Forever Eerie
by Eileen
Summary: When you grow up in a town like Eerie, your definition of normal is a lot different from everyone else's. For Marshall Teller, "normal" includes investigating the paranormal-professionally-with his two best friends, in between raising a family with the biggest swimming pool on the block and writing books about his experiences.
1. Prologue

My name is Marshall Teller. I have seen my future, and I know everything will be all right.

It happened on a nature hike by the lake, about a week before Halloween. It was just cold enough to need a jacket, but the weather was nice, and we spotted a lot of rare birds in the trees. But that wasn't all we saw that day.

It was when we were coming back that we ran into the temporal portal. We headed up toward the top of the hill, near the parking area, and that was when we saw it: a shimmer in the air, just barely visible, like heat rising off the pavement in summer. But it wasn't hot out at all.

The shimmer grew brighter, took on the shape of a doorway, and someone stepped through.

He was about my dad's height, with short brown hair and a tan camouflage jacket with a patch on it. It had writing on it, but I couldn't read it from this distance.

"Whoa," he said. Then he looked back over his shoulder. "It's safe, guys. Come on!"

The three of us could only stand there and watch as two more men stepped through. One of them had red hair and freckles. The other had grey hair and dark symbols on the backs of his hands.

"You're us," I said. "From the future."

"Got it in one." Future me stepped forward. The patch on his jacket said TELLER, and under it was some kind of number. "I don't know how much time we have here. I know you have a million questions, but I can't answer any of them."

I nodded. "Because it would disrupt the time-space continuum."

Simon seemed pleased with his future. "At least I know I will get taller."

His older self nodded. "Oh, yeah. Puberty's very good to you."

Dash, on the other hand, wasn't as satisfied. "So in twenty years, I'm still hanging around with these twerps?"

"You didn't want to go home, remember?" his older double reminded him. "Besides, you're doing something you love. And you're very good at it. And that's all I can tell you."

"Fair enough."

"Is there any sort of general advice you can give us?" I asked.

"General advice . . ." Older Marshall frowned and glanced up above his head. I'd been told I did that when I was thinking, but this was the first time I had actually **seen** it. It was really weird. "Well, I **can** tell you that you're on the right track. Keep doing what you're doing, and amazing things will happen."

"Amazing things always do, in this town. Not always good things, but amazing things."

"Have faith," Older Simon said to his younger counterpart. "Things will work out in ways you can't even imagine right now. Stick with your friends, and look for ways to expand your horizons."

"I don't even know what that means," Simon protested.

"You will."

Dash looked at his older self, who had gone strangely silent. "What about you? Any advice for me? Do I even find out who I am? Isn't there anything you can tell me?"

Older Dash looked uncomfortable. He looked like he was about to say something, but then the portal behind them started fading.

"It's closing up!" Older Marshall said. "We've gotta go, guys."

Dash was still standing there, staring at his younger self.

"Come on, Dash! Time's up!"

Young Dash was staring at him expectantly, waiting for any words of wisdom from the future.

The older versions of me and Simon had already gone through, but Older Dash was still there. Finally he said, "Comb your hair. You look like a bum!"

Then a hand, at the end of an arm wrapped in tan camo, reached through and pulled him into the portal. There was a really bright flash-and then it was gone.

"Bye, guys," I said. "Be ya later."

"Well, we know a few things," Simon said. "We know we're still alive in twenty years. We know we're all still together."

"Yeah, that's something," I admitted. "Dash? What's wrong?"

He was still staring at the spot where the portal had been, like he was in shock. "Comb your hair?" he said, in a small, quiet voice. "That's all he could tell me?"

"Maybe he didn't want to admit that he still didn't know anything," I said.

"He could have at least given me a couple of Superbowl scores."

I looked at him. He gave me a cheeky grin, and we both burst out laughing. Simon looked at us like we were crazy.

"Well, we can't change the future," I said. "But at least we got a glimpse of what's in store for us. As long as we stick together. What do you say? You guys with me?"

"Duh!" Simon said. "We're with you, like, forever. For the next twenty years, at least."

"At least we know we survive whatever crap this town throws at us," said Dash.

"And we're still together," I said. "And we're happy. And that's all that matters. Let's head back now."

Dash glanced over his shoulder as we made our way through the parking lot and towards the street. "Too bad we can't get it back," he said.

I shook my head. "One in a million chance that we just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

"On both ends," said Simon. "I wonder what they're thinking right now?"

"We'll find out. When the time comes."

* * *

I yanked Dash back through the portal just as it closed up. We fell backwards and rolled through the grass, coming to a stop with him on top of me. I pushed him off and got up.

"Get it back!" He was still lying on the ground. "Open it up again!"

Simon was shaking his head. "Can't. It's gone, dude. It was only a million-to-one chance that we were here for it in the first place."

"You're the one who found it again! Can't you get it to open up again?"

"Dude, I'm an English teacher, not a quantum physicist."

"Why didn't I say something encouraging to him? I mean, 'Comb your hair'? Really? That's all I could come up with?"

"Dash," I said, "let it go. At least he knows he's alive in the future, and doing well. He'll find his own way. You know that."

"I guess so."

I helped him up, and we made our way back to the parking lot. My minivan was sitting next to Dash's truck, the only two vehicles in the lot. In a few weeks, when the beach opened up again, this place would be crowded from dawn till dusk, but it was still too cool for beachgoing and other related activities. It was kinda nice to have the place to ourselves.

"Remember when we talked about the kind of cars we were gonna have?" Simon mused. "I think we settled on . . . blue Mustang, red Corvette, and black Firebird with flames up the side."

"Well, I've got flames, at least," Dash said. And it was true; right under his business name and address was painted a bright yellow-orange streak of flame. "But I don't remember a gold minivan entering into the conversation."

"We all have to make sacrifices along the way," I said. "So much changes, but so much stays the same. Like friendship."

"We have such big dreams when we're kids." Dash climbed up into the front seat of his truck and unlocked the door for Simon. "I thought when I grew up, I'd either be madly rich or in prison. Who'd have thought that I'd end up building houses for a living?"

"It's honest work. So what if you don't have a ton of money? You've got us."

"I never thought that'd be enough. Turns out, your expectations change when you're a grownup. I still wish I could tell him what he really wants to hear."

"Your real name," said Simon. "Which you still don't know."

"But we will," I asserted. "We're continually searching every missing child database in the country. You're in there somewhere. We **will** find you."

Dash looked over his shoulder one last time before starting up the truck. "He's just so lost. I wish I could give him something to hope for. Some little nugget of information about his past. But even after all this time, there's still nothing."

"There will be. Let's just go home. Our work here is done."

But I was wrong about that. Just as I was about to start the van, my phone rang. The phone that we reserved for our **real** business. I signaled to the others and hit the ANSWER button. "DMS Investigations, how can I help you? Uh huh. Four times, you said? We'll get right on it. I just need your address."

When the call was ended, I rolled down the window. "We've got a case, guys. Some woman on Houghton Street said that something's broken into her cellar four times. Based on the information she gave me, it sounds like a night goblin."

"Oh, great," Dash grumbled. "The North American kind, who listen to reason, or the European variety, who need to be blasted out?"

"Not sure. Keep the weapons on standby, just in case."

A moment later, we rolled out. Some things change. Some change a lot. But the important things never do.


	2. The Last Fairy Colony in North America

"That's the biggest hive I've ever seen," said Simon, gazing up at the huge organic structure hanging off the barn.

"We can do this," I said. "Get ready."

"Oh, man, why do I have to be the bait?"

"Cause I was the bait last time," said Dash. "And got bitten for my troubles. Still got the scar."

"No one's getting bitten this time," I said. "Get your protective gear on now."

We wasted no time getting into the heavy canvas overalls that would protect us from the deadly bites of the creatures we were here to exterminate. And then Simon had to put the bling suit, the sequin-covered jacket and pants that were essential for attracting attention, over the protective suit. In this heat, I didn't envy him.

I'd had my turn being the bait. In Iraq.

"I feel like a giant disco ball," Simon said. I tried not to look at him directly; the little glints of light he was giving off might blind me.

"I know," I said, "but someone has to lure them out of the hive. Go get 'em while we prime the flamethrowers."

He dutifully went to do the little dance in full view of the hive. It's the silliest thing you ever saw, with a lot of butt-wiggling, but it's necessary to attract their attention. They like shiny things, but shiny things in motion drive them crazy.

While Simon did his thing, Dash and I got the flamethrowers ready. We'd taken the required safety courses, mine courtesy of Uncle Sam. Another thing I'd learned in my time overseas. Dash had had to pay a guy on the Army base to give him the certification course, and personally I always thought he'd overpaid. But some things are invaluable, especially in our line of work.

Soon we began to hear a low hum, which grew into a loud buzzing. I looked back toward the house to make sure all the shades were down and no one was near the windows. Then I looked at Dash, and nodded. Time to go to work.

Simon came running around the corner and dived under an old blanket I had spread out on the ground. Once he was out of sight, Dash and I opened up the nozzles and it was flame on.

"Freakin' fairies!" Dash muttered, muffled by the hood. "I hate 'em!"

"Not too fond of them myself," I said. "They're vicious. And deadly. I saw them devour a guard dog in Iraq. A pit bull. Swarmed over him and ate him up just like that."

"There are colonies in Iraq?"

"There were when I was there. They're not native to the region."

It was a huge swarm, bigger than the one in Iraq, even bigger than the one we'd dealt with previously. I was worried our flamethrowers would run out of fuel, but the last few stragglers zipped past, and we lit them up.

There was a smell in the air like burned bacon, and tiny blackened bodies lying in heaps on the ground.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Dash prodded one that seemed to be mostly intact with the toe of his boot. "Bite me, sparkle butt!"

"Dash, no!" I swung the flamethrower around just in case she wasn't quite dead yet.

"Relax, Mars. They're toast. Let's sweep up the ashes and go collect our money."

It was all about the money with him. "We're only half done," I pointed out. "We still have to knock down and burn the hive. That might take a while."

"Besides," said Simon, who was coming out from under the blanket, "the queen's still in there."

"She doesn't leave the hive," Dash reminded him.

"It's been known to happen," I said. "How are you for gas?"

He checked the indicator. "I've got a little over a quarter of a tank."

"I've got less than that. We should go back to the van and fuel up before we go cut down the hive. Just in case."

"We'll show that little bitch who's boss." He strode back toward the van, and I followed.

"Hey!" Simon called, hurrying after us. "Wait up!"

* * *

THREE DAYS EARLIER

When I stopped into the World of Stuff for my morning coffee at the in-store Starbucks (I know, progress, right?), Mr. Radford, who refuses to retire, saw me coming and pounced like an old tomcat.

"Marshall!" he called out, handing the keys to his assistant and stepping out from behind the counter. "Just the man I wanted to see!"

"What's up?" I asked, slipping into a booth. He sat on the other side and took out his phone.

"You remember my niece Calliope, don't you?"

I nodded. "She's okay, I hope."

"Oh, she's fine, but her next-door neighbor's got a problem. Take a look." He slid the phone across the table toward me. I looked down at the screen and couldn't believe what I saw.

"How long has that been there?"

"She's not sure. She was out on a walk and she happened to see it. Something that size, though, doesn't get there overnight."

"She lives in Texas, doesn't she?"

"Yep, up in the panhandle."

"There's nobody local who can handle this?"

He looked me straight in the eye. "Would you trust something like this to your average exterminator?"

"I mean someone who does what we do. I know there are others, out there on the fringe."

"If there are, Callie doesn't know how to get hold of them. But she does know you. Figure it's a two- or three-day drive if you switch off and drive straight through. It's getting real hot right now in that part of Texas, and if they should swarm . . ."

There was a clink as the barista, Janet, set my mocha frappuchino in front of me. And I hadn't even ordered it yet.

"What can I get you today, Mr. R.?" she asked.

In response, he asked, "What did I have last time?"

"I don't know," she said. "I wasn't here yesterday."

"Well, what did I have the last time you worked?"

"Hmm . . . vanilla latte, I think."

"That sounds good. I know I hate to repeat myself, but I'll just go ahead and have that."

"Coming right up," she said, and left us alone again.

I looked down at the picture again. "I don't know," I said. "I want to help, but . . . we haven't been on a road trip since my kids were born. It's not so easy to just get in the car and go anymore."

"You play your cards right, you'll be gone less than a week. Your mom can help Sylvie watch the kids-isn't she always saying she never gets enough time with them?"

"Yeah, but-"

"School doesn't start again for three weeks."

"Four weeks," I corrected him. We had the first day of school outlined in red on the calendar.

"Don't the teachers have to report back early?"

"Oh, yeah."

"And I know for a fact that Dash doesn't have anything going until he starts on the big restoration project in September. You have to go now. If the weather gets any hotter, they could swarm, and nobody wants that." He leaned in conspiratorially. "They say it was a fairy swarm that caused the disappearance of all the settlers on Roanoke Island."

"Really? I hadn't heard that." I never knew whether Mr. Radford was telling the truth about something like this, or if he was just putting me on. Either one was likely. "I'll talk to my associates and see if they'll do it."

"Great!" He stood up and strode back to the counter, grabbing his vanilla latte right out of Janet's hand. She just took it in stride.

"Mr. Radford," I prompted him. "You forgot your phone."

He looked down, confused. "Isn't that your phone?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it's yours." I checked my pocket and found my own phone right where it was supposed to be. I held it up. "See?"

"Oh. Oh!"

I brought it up to him. "I don't suppose you can give me Callie's number?"

"Don't you have it?"

"I used to, but . . . someone made me delete it. Total misunderstanding."

"I'm sure." He fiddled around with the phone for a minute before asking, "How do I get out of Photos and into the Address Book? Do I have an Address Book? If I don't, where do I keep the phone numbers?"

"Let me see." I found it for him and then copied Callie's number into my own phone. "I'll call her as soon as I know what we're doing."

"Marshall." He looked at me seriously. "Callie's neighbor has three kids, two dogs, four cats, a cow and a chicken. If you don't take care of that infestation . . . all of them could be in danger."

He was right, of course. Lives were at stake. It was my duty to convince the guys that this trip was absolutely necessary.

All I had to do was keep things calm and reasonable, and everything would be all right.

* * *

"We're going to see **who**?" Simon exploded.

Yeah, so much for calm and reasonable.

"We won't be seeing **her** ," I pointed out. "It's at her neighbor's house. I mean, we might stop in and say hi, but-"

"Oh, sure you will! Then the next thing you know, your hand is up under her sweater!"

"I told you," I said, "I was fixing her dress strap for her!"

"Right in the middle of the hallway! You have no shame!"

"You're talking about something that happened almost twenty years ago!" Okay, so I was starting to lose my cool a bit. "We already talked about all this!"

"Yeah, and one of the conditions of us staying friends was that you would never see or talk to that person ever again!"

"I haven't actually talked to her yet-"

"You better not! Or you can go to Texas by yourself!" He went into his room and slammed the door. It might have been more effective if the door hadn't bounced back, hit the wall, and then just sort of hung there, half-open.

Dash snorted. "I told you you were gonna break that door!" he shouted across the room. "I'm not fixing it this time! You can just call Building Maintenance and wait a month for them to deal with it!"

I felt terrible for having dragged all this up again, even though it hadn't really been my fault the first time. "I should go talk to him."

"Not yet. He's still sulking. Give him time to cool down first." Dash flipped on the TV. "I have the last three episodes of _Walking Dead_ recorded. Wanna watch 'em?"

I shook my head. "I'm good."

" _Suits_? _Blue Bloods?_ Oh- _Mysteries of Laura_! I love that one!"

"Watch what you want," I said, getting up. "I'm going to talk to Simon."

I went over and knocked on the half-open door. "Can I come in?"

Simon looked up. "Can I stop you?"

"Sure you can. You can say, 'Don't come in, I want to be alone right now.'"

He looked away, and for a moment I thought he would do just that. Then he said, "It's okay. Come in."

I stepped inside. Simon was sitting on the unmade bed, staring at the wall. There was a chair, but it was covered with books and papers and stuff, so I just sat down beside him on the bed. Then I looked up. "I love the stars."

He didn't even glance up. "The constellations aren't accurate, but I didn't have a lot of room to work with."

"I still like them."

"You promised you'd never have anything to do with her again. Ever. And now you go and do this behind my back-"

"I haven't done anything yet!" I said. "I haven't talked to her or even sent her an e-mail! I didn't want to make any arrangements until I talked to you guys first."

"Cause you knew what I'd say about it."

"Simon." I put my arm around him. He stiffened, but didn't pull away. "Three kids, two dogs, four cats, a cow and a chicken are depending on us. Depending on **you**. This isn't about Callie at all. This is about the last fairy colony in North America. And we get to be the guys who brought it down!"

That perked him up a bit. "Can I blog about it?"

"Sure. You can even record video, just like you did of the last one."

"You mean when Dash got bitten and went all loopy from the hallucinogenic venom?"

"You took that off YouTube, right?" came the shout from the other room.

"Yes!" Simon yelled back. "I took it down as soon as you asked me to!" To me he said, in a near-whisper, "I still have my copy, though."

"Better keep that somewhere safe," I told him.

"Oh, I do. It's in a file labeled 'ABBA Videos'. He'll never look there."

"True."

We sat in silence for a moment, and then I said, "So are you in or not? Cause I can't do it without you, man. Seriously."

He looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, in their inaccurate configurations (and now that I looked at it, I was pretty sure Sagittarius was upside-down), and then looked at me. "Fine. But I'm not letting any one of us be alone with Callie. Not even for a second."

"Fair enough." We shook on it.

The next day we packed the van and took off. It took us three days of driving straight through to reach Callie's home in Texas, and the only problem we encountered was when Simon, who was in the passenger seat at the time, changed the radio station to Seventies Soft Rock.

He was bobbing along with "Dancing Queen" when suddenly Dash, whom we had thought was asleep in the back, spoke up. "What did I tell you about that music, short stack? You can only play it in my presence if you're wearing headphones. I don't see any headphones."

"I thought you were asleep!" Simon protested.

"How can anyone sleep through that garbage? Change it, now!"

"Hey, guys!" I interrupted. "One more word and I'll put on the all-opera station. Then we can all be miserable."

That shut them up.

We compromised on the Eighties/Nineties Pop station. That seemed to work for everyone.

After three days, seven drive-thru runs, four stops for gas, and two wrong turns (curse you, Map App!), we finally pulled into Callie's long, long driveway.

"Wow," Simon said. "They have a lot of land here."

"That's a good thing," I said. "Big plots of land means fewer neighbors. Fewer people in danger."

"Of course, if the swarm breaks loose," Dash remarked, "it can go anywhere it wants."

"Let's hope we made it in time, then."

We had plenty of time, as we walked up the long drive and then the long front walk, to admire the landscaping. "Remind me to get some pictures of the fountain," I said. "I've been thinking about putting something like that on the side of the house."

"I think you'd have to scale it down," said Dash. "Something that size would never fit in your yard."

"Yeah. The general idea, though . . ."

"It is nice."

Simon wasn't saying anything, not even when I pointed out the little frog statues by the fountain (he loves frogs). I could tell he just wanted to be out of here as soon as possible, but it was only polite to say hi to Callie first.

Finally we reached the front porch . . . and just stood there.

"Ring the bell," I said.

" **You** ring the bell," said Dash.

"You're closer!"

"This was all your idea!"

"We don't have a lot of time here! Ring the bell!"

"Hey, you're not the boss of me! You don't give me orders!"

Simon looked at both of us. "Seriously?" Then he reached between us and rang the bell.

"I was gonna do that," Dash said weakly.

"Just don't talk," Simon said to him.

It was a couple of minutes before the door opened. She must have been all the way at the other end of the house. And it was a big house, easily twice the size of mine. I wondered how many kids she had.

"How much you think a house like this goes for?" Dash asked.

I shrugged. "Maybe real estate's cheap here."

"Or her husband's mega-successful. Wonder what he does for a living?"

Then the door burst open, and there she was.

I can't say she hadn't changed a bit, because obviously she was older, a bit taller, and her hair was a different color now, but I recognized her instantly. She must have recognized me too, because she let out an ear-piercing squeal and threw her arms around me.

"So glad to see you!" she gushed. "I have all your books! Come see!"

"Yeah, Cal, this really isn't a social call-" Dash began, before she spotted him and swooped down on him.

"Dashie-poo! You haven't changed at all! Still not married?"

"Well, no-"

"You could have had me, but it's too late. Now, I made you a special batch of my pineapple-coconut cookies, cause I know you love them . . ."

"I'll just wait in the van, then," Simon said, trying to slink away before she could descend on him. She was too fast for him, though.

"Simon! How could I forget you?" She reached out for him, but he took a step back. If we were on my front porch, he would have fallen down the steps, but this porch was the size of my entire living room. He had plenty of distance to put between himself and her.

She didn't seem too offended by his reluctance to get close to her. "You're still upset about . . . how it ended."

"A little, yeah."

"Callie," I said, "as much as we'd like to see the house and eat cookies and everything, we really should get to that hive before sundown. Is your neighbor home?"

"Nancy? She should be."

"And you told her to keep the kids and the animals in the house?"

"Even the cow and the chicken?" Dash quipped, and I gave him a look.

"I told her," said Callie. "I know how dangerous fairies are. My parents were eaten by fairies, remember?"

"I know," I said. "To anyone outside of Eerie, that would sound . . . crazy. But we know better."

"Good thing fairies are all but extinct," said Simon. "At least north of the equator. I've heard about colonies down in South America, but I don't think they migrate this far north, so we're safe. Besides, one long road trip a decade is enough for us."

"What did you tell her?" I asked.

She looked a little embarrassed. "I told her they were probably . . . giant African killer wasps."

"Wasps?"

"I said probably! I told her I wasn't an expert, but I knew someone who was. Come on, Nancy's barn is over this way." She led us down off the porch and across a lawn bigger than my whole neighborhood up to a house which was only average sized. "I even had her put the cars in the garage, just to be safe." She pointed back toward a huge structure which could have housed a 747 comfortably.

Nancy turned out to be a fortyish woman in a pink housecoat and one of those plastic hair turbans women wear when they've just come out of the beauty parlor and don't want to mess up their new do. "Oh! I wasn't expecting you so early!"

"They drove straight through from Indiana," Callie explained. She introduced us, and then the guys stepped back and let me do the talking.

"It definitely looks like African wasps," I said, struggling to keep a straight face. "We have all the equipment in the van, and I don't expect it to take us longer than a couple of hours at most. If you could just stay in the house with all your doors and windows locked, and the shades down, I'll let you know when it's all clear."

"Shades?"

"You want to keep away from the windows. They're attracted to shiny things, and the glint of light off a window might be enough to draw them away from us. You'll be perfectly safe as long as you all stay inside."

"Including the cow and the chicken," Dash piped up. I glared at him over my shoulder, but Nancy just laughed.

"It's okay," she said, "they're in our other barn. Locked up tight. My husband even sealed the cracks big enough to let one of those wasps inside. They're fine."

"Good." I nodded briskly. "Now if you'll just point us in the direction of the barn, we'll get to work."

So now all that was left was to cut the hive down and burn it, hopefully with the queen still inside. I was feeling a bit apprehensive about the job ahead, but not because things weren't going well. They were going **too** well. I had this feeling that something would go terribly wrong when we got to the queen. I just hoped we were ready for it when it happened, whatever it turned out to be.

We stood about ten feet away from the barn-what I judged to be a safe distance-and looked up at the hive.

"Oh, man," Simon moaned. "How're we gonna get that down?"

"One of us will have to go up on the roof and saw it free," said Dash. "I've got a hacksaw in the van. When it falls down, it'll probably burst open, and the queen will fly out. And she'll be pissed."

"So who gets to climb up there?" I asked.

Simon immediately said, "Not it!" At our looks, he said, "What? I was the bait! I can't cut down the hive too! I didn't want to come here in the first place!"

"Quit whining, Junior," Dash scolded him. "I'll do it! You guys wait down here with the flamethrowers armed and ready. Luckily, queens are pretty slow in the air. She should be no problem to take care of."

Very soon, we would all regret those words. The easy part of the job was over. From here on out, it was tough going all the way.

Dash handed Simon his flamethrower and went to the van to get the hacksaw. Meanwhile Simon was fumbling around inside his coveralls.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

"Almost got it-ah!" He held up his phone and turned it on. "Just got to check my e-mail for a second."

"Can't it wait till we're finished with this?"

"I just want to check one thing!"

"Well, hurry up! Once the queen's out of the hive, all shiny things need to be out of sight!"

"Okay, okay!" He checked whatever it was while keeping one eye on the hive. There was nothing happening at the moment, but then Dash hadn't come back with the saw yet.

Simon finished with his phone and tucked it back into his pocket. "There. Happy?"

"Yes, actually."

Dash came back, climbed up on the barn roof, and ordered us both to stand back. Then he started sawing at the place where the hive connected with the roof. It took him about ten minutes to cut through it completely, and then he climbed down and ran behind the barn, trying to get out of the way.

But not fast enough. The moment the hive struck the ground, it exploded like a bomb, and the queen, huge and bloated, buzzed out . . . and homed straight in on Dash, knocking him to the ground.

She couldn't bite through his protective suit, but that didn't stop her trying, banging into him again and again.

"What do we do?" Simon asked me. "We can't use the flamethrowers-we'll hit Dash! And it's his turn to do the dishes!"

I couldn't tell if he was making a joke to try and lighten the moment or if he was actually serious. "We need to distract her somehow. You still got the bling suit?"

"No, I left it with the blanket!"

"Damn! Something shiny . . . something shiny . . ." And then it hit me. "Simon, give me your phone."

"What? But you said-"

"I know what I said. I've got an idea. We can use the reflection off the glass to lure her away!"

Simon tossed me the phone, and I switched it on and held it up. When the sun struck it just right, the whole surface of the phone became reflective. I called out, "Hey, Tinkerbell! Look at this!"

I don't know if fairies understand English, but she paused in her assault and seemed to be waiting to see what would happen next. I tilted the phone so the glint of light would shine in her direction, and she went for it.

"Go get it!" I said, and tossed the phone as far in the other direction as I could. When she was safely clear, I shouted, "Light her up!"

Simon and I switched on our flamethrowers and directed them toward her just as she pounced on the phone. There was a high, unearthly shriek, and her body, which was about the size of a soccer ball, went up like a match in gasoline. She dropped to the dirt to try and roll around to put herself out, but we kept up the flame, and it wasn't long until she was nothing but ashes. Just like all the rest of her crew.

Simon looked down and then poked the ashes with the tip of his now-deactivated flamethrower. Under the remains of the dead queen lay a blackened rectangle that had only recently been his phone.

"I don't think," he said, "that's covered in the warranty."

"We'll buy you a new one," I said. "Dash, you all right?"

He was getting to his feet slowly. "I think so."

"Let's go tell Nancy that it's safe to come out of the house now."

Once again, I did the talking. "We're done," I told her. "Had to burn the critters out of their nest, but they're not a problem anymore. And I don't think they'll come back."

"Thank you so much." Nancy invited us in for a moment. "How much do I owe you?"

"Ten thousand dollars," Dash replied, before I could stop him.

I expected her to protest, but she didn't bat an eyelash. "I'll just go get my checkbook."

"Wait a minute," I said. "Could I just confer with my associates first?"

"Sure."

I drew them aside and said, "Ten thousand dollars? Really?"

"Hey, you weren't the one getting beat up by Queen Sparkles! The fee represents the degree of difficulty involved."

"I thought we agreed we would only ask for expenses! Even with gas, food, equipment-"

"And a new phone," Simon interjected.

"Right. A new phone. That hardly comes to ten thousand dollars! We're not in this to make money, remember?"

"Maybe **you're** not," Dash snapped. "I'll take what I can get, thank you! She didn't seem to have a problem with it."

"Well, I do." I did some quick mental calculations. Gas . . . four times sixty dollars was two hundred and forty. Food was another forty or so a pop, so . . . another hundred or so. Equipment wear and tear barely came to another hundred. Even with the cost of the phone, it didn't come anywhere near ten thousand. One thousand, maybe.

But Dash deserved something for his trouble, so up that a little.

I came back to Nancy, who had her check all filled out except for the amount. "I'm sorry, Nancy, my colleague misspoke. It's not ten thousand. It's three thousand."

"Three?" Dash protested, and Simon gave him an elbow in the ribs. "Ow! What?"

"Ssh!"

"Well, that sounds very reasonable," Nancy said, and finished filling out the check. She tore it out of her book and handed it to me. "Thank you so much for all your trouble."

"No trouble at all," I said.

Callie swooped out of nowhere and enveloped us all in a hug that must have nearly killed Dash's sore body. "I knew you could do it! Come on, let's go have cookies!"

"We are never," Dash gasped out, as soon as Callie had released us, "doing this again."

"Don't worry," Simon said. "We won't have to. That was the last fairy colony in North America. Aw, shoot, I forgot to get the video!"

"It's okay," I said. "You would have lost it with the phone anyway."

"My next one will have instant uploading to the cloud, so I'll never lose anything."

"Sounds like a plan," I said. "Let's go have some cookies. Cookies make everything better."

It's true-they really do. They even made Simon forget he was still mad at Callie. We parted as friends. I even promised to look her up on Facebook, so we could stay in touch.

So a happy ending all around.

Well, maybe not for the fairies.


	3. Hello from the Other Side

I know ghosts are real. I've met several over the years, some friendly, some not so much. They're easy to deal with; you just have to find out what they want.

Sometimes the first step is getting them to realize that they're actually dead.

* * *

I hadn't seen Todd McNulty in a while. He'd gone to college in Seattle, settled down out there, and had only moved back to town recently. I'd been meaning to call and invite him for dinner or something, when he called me.

On the business line.

"I didn't know who else to talk to about this," he began. "I mean, I tried the phone company, but they said there wasn't anything they could do about it. They did send someone to check the line, but he didn't find anything. I just hope I'm not crazy."

"Why don't we come over," I suggested, "and we can talk about this in person? Might be easier."

"Yeah, maybe you're right. I'll have Jenny take the kids over to my parents' place tonight so we'll have the house to ourselves. You're not gonna believe this. This is really weird."

"Weirder than hearing your dad's voice recorded backwards on a rock record?"

"Definitely."

"Sounds like we definitely need to check it out, then. We'll be over around seven."

We showed up with snacks, and drinks, though nothing alcoholic. We would need clear heads to deal with this problem, whatever it was.

Once the pleasantries had been exchanged, we got down to business.

"Ever since we moved back here," Todd began, "we've been getting these strange phone calls. The first time she called, I didn't recognize the number, so I let the machine pick it up. After the message, there was just silence, and then a click. I thought it was a wrong number, but then she called back. Every night."

"How do you know it's a she," I asked, "if there wasn't anything but silence?"

"Because," Todd said, "last night I was upstairs, near the only phone in the house that doesn't have Caller ID. I picked it up, and . . . she said hello. I said hello, and then she hung up."

"Wow," said Dash. "Fascinating conversation."

Simon and I glared at him.

Todd handed me a piece of paper. "I copied down the times and dates of all the calls. Most of them have been between seven and ten at night, although there were two before eight in the morning, and one at four o'clock in the morning."

"Who the heck calls someone at four in the morning?" Simon asked in amazement.

I looked pointedly at Dash.

"What?" he protested. "I did that once! I was drunk and they took my keys away! I needed a ride home!"

"The thing is," Todd said, "she sounded really young. Not like **really** young but, you know, a teenager."

"Did you recognize the voice?" I asked.

"No," Todd said, looking away. "I don't know who it is, but if it were a wrong number, she would have given up by now."

"Did you try looking up the number?" Simon asked.

"You can do that?"

"There are sites," said Dash, "that you can plug in someone's number and you have their whole life in front of you. They're not exactly legal, but they're out there. I can do it; I know how to cover my tracks."

"Fine," I said. "We'll look up the number and see what comes up. In the meantime, if she calls again, try to get her talking. Maybe she's just shy."

"Thanks, guys." Todd sounded relieved as he showed us out.

Dash glanced back at the closing door. "You know," he said to me, "when you asked him if he knew the voice on the phone?"

"Yeah?"

"He was lying."

Simon and I both stared at him.

"Why would he lie about something like that?" Simon asked.

Dash grinned. "Why do you think? Cause he's got something to hide. Oldest story in the world: he was having an affair, broke it off with the girl, moved here for a fresh start. Only she tracked him down, and she's been calling him to finish what they started, but every time she does, she loses her nerve. She can't leave a message cause the wife will find out. So she keeps trying in the hopes that she'll finally reach him. But when she does, she chickens out again."

"That makes no sense at all!" I stopped right behind the car and turned to look at him. "Todd would never have an affair! He's a nice guy, and he would have told us something like that!"

"Twenty bucks says the number belongs to his teenage-" Dash glanced down at the paper in my hand and went even paler than usual.

"Dana," he said at last. "That's Dana's number. I'd know it anywhere."

"Are you sure?"

He showed me his own phone. Under "Recent Calls Received" was the same number, with Dana's name after it. "How could she? How could she do this to me?"

"She hasn't done anything," I pointed out, "that we know of. Maybe you should have a talk with her. Meanwhile, we'll do some checking anyway, just in case this turns out to be a huge misunderstanding."

"Look at the times. Early in the morning or late in the evening. Nothing in the middle of the day. That's because she's at the school, and her phone is off. But when she's home, she keeps it on, in case she needs to call me over to plug up another of her drafts."

Simon made a face. "If that's some weird sexual euphemism," he said, "I don't wanna know about it!"

"No, no, they're actual drafts. You know that house is a hundred years old. It'd be easier just to knock the whole thing down and rebuild it from the ground up, but the Historical Society wants to preserve as much as possible. Every time I fix one of the drafty spots, another one pops up."

"Well," I said, "at least it's keeping you busy. And you're getting paid for it, right?"

"Well, yeah-"

"And the two of you get to spend a lot of time together."

"Yeah, but it doesn't count if I'm working! It's not like we really get to talk or anything."

"Just don't do anything rash," I cautioned him. "We don't know what's going on yet. All we know is that Todd's been getting weird phone calls, and for some reason they seem to be coming from Dana's phone. I don't think she's even met Todd, anyway. She moved here from Virginia. That's as far from Seattle as you can get."

"So maybe they never met face to face. Maybe they hooked up online. Happens all the time. She finds out he's moving here, follows him-"

"I think it's just coincidence that they happened to move here at the same time. Anyway, she doesn't seem to me the type who'd have an affair with a married man, cyber or otherwise. She likes you. Otherwise she wouldn't keep calling you to plug her drafts."

"She loves the way I plug her drafts."

'You know what we need?" Simon suddenly interjected. "A _Star Trek_ movie. One of the really bad ones that we can sit and make fun of."

"Or one of the really good ones," I suggested.

In the end, we went with both. It was just what we needed to lift our spirits, and more importantly, take Dash's mind off Dana and how her number mysteriously turned up on Todd's phone.

But it wasn't to last. The very next night, Todd called me.

"She called again," he said. "Just a few minutes ago."

"Did you get to talk to her?"

"I have it recorded on the answering machine. It came on just as I picked up."

"Great! We'll be right over." I grabbed my keys and headed out the door, calling the guys on the way.

This time Todd's wife was there. "Hi," I said. "You look different without your red apron."

Simon looked at me questioningly. I explained, "Jenny works in the grocery store as a checker. She's the fastest one in the store. Everyone likes her."

"Does she know what's been going on?" asked Dash.

Jenny herself answered. "I do. I don't know who this girl is, but she'd better stop calling, or I'll find her, and I'll take her phone away. Who does she think she is?"

"Let's hear the tape," I suggested.

It wasn't exactly a tape. Answering machines haven't used tapes in years, not since they came out with digital recorders. Todd had saved the file on his computer, and he played it back for us.

There was a beep, and then a breathy voice said, "Hello?"

A click as Todd picked it up. "Hello, who's this?"

"Hello? Todd?"

"Yes, hello?"

"Hello . . ." Then a click, and silence. The entire conversation was no more than twenty seconds long, but it was so creepy that we all stood around staring at each other after it was over.

Dash broke the uncomfortable silence. "That's not Dana's voice," he said. "It's Dana's number, but it's not Dana's voice."

"Maybe someone's faking it out," I suggested. "Isn't there software you can use to make it look like you're calling from a different number?"

Simon was shaking his head. "It wouldn't be the same number every time. The software switches it up between several different numbers, most of them fake. Maybe once or twice it would select a real number randomly, but not eighteen times in a row. Something else is going on here."

"Who else has access to Dana's phone?" I asked.

"No one, as far as I know," said Dash. "She lives alone." Just as he was saying that, his phone rang. "Sorry, I'll just be a minute." He stepped out of the room to take the call.

"Who's this Dana?" Todd asked.

"She's the school librarian at North Side Elementary," I explained. "Dash started doing some restoration work on her house a couple of months ago, and I guess they've kind of been seeing each other."

"Oh. Our kids go to South Side."

"So you don't know her?"

"No. Why would she be calling me?"

I took a deep breath. This next part wasn't going to be easy. "Todd, I need you to be straight with us. The woman on the phone knew your name. The other night, when I asked you if you recognized her voice, you didn't exactly give us an honest answer. We need to know what's going on."

Jenny gave him an incredulous look. "You know who this is?"

"It's not what you think! Okay, I recognized her voice. But I didn't tell you about it because . . . it couldn't have been her. It had to be one of those weird coincidences. There's no way it could have been her."

"Why not?"

"Because she's dead!"

Simon and I looked at each other. This was one of those cases.

Dash came back and immediately sensed the tension in the air. "Everything all right?"

"I think I know what's going on now," I said. "Tell me something. That was Dana, right?"

"Yeah."

"She needs you to fix another draft?"

"Always."

"And how long has she been having these drafts? When did she notice the first one?"

He thought about it. "Three or four weeks ago."

"Right around the time the phone calls started."

"What are you getting at?"

"Those aren't drafts," I said. "They're cold spots. There's a ghost in Dana's house. And it's somebody Todd knows, who's been trying to get in touch with him."

* * *

It all made sense now. The ghost lived in Dana's house because it was an old house, and ghosts are attracted to old houses. She was using Dana's phone to call Todd when it was available-before Dana went to work, or after she got home and was absorbed in other things.

What we still didn't know was who she was or what she wanted. We were hoping Todd could fill us in on that part of the story.

"Her name is Missy Wright," Todd began. "She was my girlfriend in college, and I thought she was the one. I was really into her, and I thought she was really into me, but . . . there were problems."

"What kind of problems?"

"Her family didn't like me. They were upper-class African-Americans, and they thought my family were white trash. We all got together once, and . . . well, you know my dad. He got in a screaming match with Mr. Wright, and my mom was trying to separate them, and then Mrs. Wright accused her of being a racist, and things went downhill from there. It ended with Mr. Wright declaring that he'd see me dead before he'd see me married to his daughter."

I started to get a sinking feeling about this. No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk about it. "So what happened next?"

"We started seeing each other secretly. As soon as we finished college, we would go far away together, where no one could tear us apart. But somehow her father found out. One night he showed up at my door demanding to know where his daughter was. I told him the truth, that I'd heard from her earlier in the evening but that had been hours ago. She wasn't with me. He said if she wasn't there, where was she? I was trying to stay calm, and to keep him calm, when a state trooper pulled up and Mrs. Wright got out of the car. She was crying.

"Missy had left at the time she had told me, but coming down that highway in the dark, she was hit by a drunk driver and run off the road. The car had rolled six times and then burst into flame. She probably hadn't even felt anything after the initial impact."

"God, that's horrible!" Simon said.

"I wasn't allowed to come to the funeral. The Wrights blamed me for her death; if we hadn't been sneaking around, she wouldn't have been on that road that night. I grieved on my own for a few weeks, and then one of my friends dragged me to a party where I met Jenny. And now you know the rest of the story."

"What I want to know is," I said, "have you gotten any other weird phone calls before you moved here? Anything where you picked it up and there was nobody there?"

Todd shook his head. "No, never."

"I wonder why it took her so many years to find you."

"Time isn't the same on the other side," said Dash. "Some ghosts come back right away. Some, not for years. Sometimes they're not even aware that so much time has passed. Sometimes they don't even know they're actually dead."

"Ghosts are usually tied to specific objects," Simon told us. "Like Grungy Bill and his gun."

"Till I broke it," Dash recalled, "and he decided he'd rather live in a toaster instead."

Todd looked at us in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Our first case," I said. "Funny that a ghost brought us together all those years ago. Do you have something that Missy gave you, that you maybe found in a box when you were unpacking? You hadn't given a thought to it in years, but you took it out because you couldn't remember whose it was. Or maybe you did remember, and you wanted to hang onto it."

Todd looked like he was starting to say no, but Jenny spoke up. "That little bear that I put up on the mantel. The one that you said was nothing. Was that hers?"

He nodded. "She gave it to me for Christmas. I'd forgotten all about it until you brought it out. I meant to tell you, but I . . . didn't know how."

"I don't understand why you didn't feel you could talk to me about this. Did you think I'd be angry?"

"I don't know," he mumbled.

"Sweetie, look at me."

He dared to raise his eyes towards her.

"There is nothing you could do that is so terrible that it would make me stop loving you. Nothing. You shouldn't be afraid to share something like this with me. Okay?"

He nodded, and she reached out and put her arms around him. I started to feel like I was intruding on a very private moment.

"Guess we should go, guys," I said.

"Wait." Todd broke away from his wife's embrace and left the room for a second. He came back carrying a ceramic teddy bear dressed in a Santa suit. "You're going to that Dana woman's house, aren't you? To get rid of Missy."

"To help her cross over," I said.

"Then you'll need this. If her spirit is trapped in here, you'll need to break it to release her." At our astonished looks, he said, "I read stuff. And I watch _Ghost Hunters_ on TV."

"You should come," I said. "She's waited a long time to say something to you. We shouldn't keep her waiting any longer."

Todd looked back at Jenny. She nodded. "Okay, then."

* * *

Dana was surprised to find a delegation on her doorstep. "Are we having a party?"

"Yeah," said Dash, stepping inside. "A ghost-busting party. Where's the draft?"

"Upstairs. In the bedroom. What's going on?"

"You don't have drafts," I said quickly. "You have a ghost. But we can get rid of her for you."

"A ghost?" She looked skeptical.

"I'll prove it to you. Where's your phone?"

"In the bedroom. What's this all-"

"C'mon, guys!" I started up the stairs, and the others followed.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Dana called after us. "You can't just barge into my bedroom!"

"I'll explain later!" Dash called back. "Rest assured that when we're done here, you will never have a draft in any room of this house ever again!"

We reached Dana's bedroom and found the phone on her bed, still warm. There was definitely a chill in the air.

"Say something," I said to Todd. "Let her know you're here."

He cleared his throat. "Um, Missy? You wanted to talk? Let's talk."

We waited for a reply, but there wasn't one.

"Missy, are you here? You're not mad at me, are you? For marrying someone else? I'll always love you, but . . . I love her, too. Please talk to me."

Still nothing, for a long time.

"Well, she's not here. Let's get out of-whoa, what's this? Hello, underwear drawer!" Dash started to open the top drawer of the dresser, but I stopped him.

"Get out of there! Just sit and be quiet, okay? No wonder Missy doesn't want to show herself!"

"Oh, sure, blame me." He sat back down and pouted.

"You're such a drama llama," Simon teased him.

"Bite me, shrimp."

"Guys! Not helping! You're gonna scare her away!"

Todd was looking at something on the night stand. "I think I know why she picked this house," he said, holding up a book. I recognized it immediately; it was my fourth book, _Bad Vibrations_ , featuring a boy on the cover who looked an awful lot like Todd. "Is this what I think it is?"

I sighed. It was a familiar question, asked in almost all of my interviews. "I've fictionalized a lot of our . . . more interesting cases. If you read it, you'll notice that it's Tim's mom who takes offense at his record collection . . . and it ends a little differently, too."

"So Missy saw this, recognized me, and thought Dana knew me? Is that what happened?" he asked the room in general.

"What are you guys doing up there?" Dana came in and saw the book in Todd's hand. She stopped short in front of us.

"It was right out on the table," he said. "I didn't go looking through drawers or anything."

"I didn't leave it out," she said. "It was on the shelf with the others."

"Others?" I went and looked at the bookshelf across the room. Sure enough, the top shelf was full of my books, including the one adult novel I'd self-published, _Life Among the Zombies_. "You read my books?"

"I'm a children's librarian. Of course I've read them. They're very popular, especially in this town. This one is my favorite." She pulled out book 10, _The Ghost of the Old Mill._

"I'm guessing," said Dash, "it's because of the handsome guy on the cover."

"I had noticed a certain resemblance," she admitted. "Funny thing is, I bought this book a year before I even met you."

"Guys!" Simon interjected, but neither of them was listening, wrapped up in their own little world.

"So did you come here because of the books?"

"Sort of. I fell in love with the town I read about in the books, and then when I found out that Eerie was a real place, I wanted to move here. And then when I learned there was a vacancy in the library in one of the elementary schools-"

"Hey guys! Look over there!" Simon pointed to the far corner by the closet, where something was coalescing.

"Whoa!" I had never seen a spirit take form before. Well, okay, there was Grungy Bill, but I had my head down at the moment he appeared, so I didn't actually **see** anything.

"It's her, isn't it?" Todd was staring at the mist which was slowly taking shape.

"We'll know in a minute."

"It's only an artist's reproduction, you know," Dash said, and it took me a moment to realize that he and Dana were still talking about the book. "The guy never met me, never even knew that the kid in the book was based on a real person. But somehow he got it pretty darn close, don't you think?"

"So did this really happen to you?" Dana asked him.

I tried to tune them out. "Missy? If that's you, don't mind those two. Todd is here. He's ready to talk to you. Don't be afraid."

Gradually the mist solidified into the image of a pretty young girl with coffee-colored skin and a purple ribbon in her long black hair. She stared at me with wide dark eyes.

"My name's Marshall," I said. "I'm a friend of Todd's. We won't hurt you."

Her eyes went to the bear in my hand. "That's Cinnamon Bear," she said.

"You named it?" Simon asked her.

"I name everything. I believe all things should have names. Giving it a name shows respect."

"And your name is Missy," I said. "Is that short for Melissa?"

She ducked her head. "It's Missouri," she said, barely above a whisper. "That's where my mother's mother came from."

"I think it's nice." I nudged Todd forward slightly. "You've come all this way and tried so hard to make contact. Now's your chance. What is it you need from us?"

She couldn't speak, freezing like she had on the phone, except in person she couldn't just press a button and go away. I was worried we might lose her. Either that, or she'd turn dark. Some spirits did, if they were denied what they wanted long enough.

It was Todd who broke the silence. "I'm sorry I didn't say a proper goodbye to you," he said. "Your parents didn't think it was . . . appropriate."

"It's okay," she said. Then her glance dropped to his left hand. "You're married now?"

"Missy . . . it's been fifteen years. I'll always love you, but . . . I didn't want to be alone."

"Does she make you happy?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "Yes, she does."

Missy smiled for the first time. "Then I'm glad. Tell her I'm sorry I kept calling and bothering her. I just needed to talk to you."

"We didn't get a proper ending."

She drifted over to him and reached out for the bear. As soon as her hand touched it, she became as solid as a living person. She tilted her head up and kissed him goodbye.

"I only wanted to love you," she said. "I never meant to hurt so many people."

"We can't help hurting someone," I told her. "It's part of being human. But you have to balance out the hurt with the love."

"You were loved by so many people," Todd said. "I heard that the whole church was packed on the day of your funeral. All people who loved you and wanted to say goodbye. I should have been there."

"It doesn't matter to me that you weren't there," she said. "I know you loved me."

Still holding the bear, she put her arms around him. He held her for a long, long moment, while the rest of us stood around awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

When she finally released him, Missy handed me the bear. "You know what you have to do," she said.

"I'm sorry. It's a very nice bear."

"We all have to let go now." She was becoming mist again, freezing the room with an Arctic chill. "Go on, do it."

"Missouri Wright," I intoned solemnly, "I hereby release your spirit into whatever afterlife you personally believe in. Go in peace to your just reward." I threw the bear to the floor, but it didn't break against the thick carpet. So I stamped on it, as hard as I could.

The sound of crunching ceramics finally attracted Dash and Dana's attention from their book discussion. "What was that?" she asked.

"Nothing of yours," I said. I stepped on it again and again, grinding it into the rug.

Missy began to glow with a shimmering light. The light grew brighter and brighter until there was a blinding white flash, and then she was gone.

The room gradually warmed back up to its normal seventy-two degrees.

"What do we do with the, um . . .?" Todd looked down at the fragments of Cinnamon Bear scattered on the rug.

"Did you want the pieces?"

"No, I don't need it anymore."

"We'll vacuum them up," I said, "and put them at the bottom of the trash. They have no power anymore."

Simon looked on in admiration. "You gotta teach me to do that," he said to me.

"It's not that hard. Break the spirit anchor-that's what we call the object that holds a ghost earthbound-and say the words. That's it."

"Can I do it next time?"

"Sure. It's just being nice to them. You're good at that."

"I guess this means I won't be seeing you so much now," Dana said to Dash.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he replied. "I'm still not done with the restoration. Now that I don't have to worry about plugging up drafts, I can get on with the important stuff."

"Will you two keep your sex life to yourselves?" Simon moaned, his hands over his ears. "TMI! TMI!"

We all had a good laugh over that.

* * *

It was a few days later that Todd called me, on the regular house phone this time.

"I thought you should know," he said, "I've had a very interesting call just now."

"Not another ghost, I hope."

"No, it was Missy's mother. I haven't heard from her in fifteen years, and all of a sudden she calls me out of the blue."

"Is she okay? She's not trying to make amends before she dies, is she?"

"I don't think so. She said she'd had a-a vision or something, of Missy, asking her to let go and make peace. So she called me."

"How did she get your number?"

"Googled it. I didn't think you could do that."

"I guess so. So everything's okay now?"

"Yeah. Thanks for all your help."

"Any time, man. Any time."

* * *

Never be afraid to reach out to someone. Chances are, they've been reaching for you, too.


	4. Lost and Found

One thing about living in Eerie that I love: the mail comes every morning (except Sunday, of course) at precisely ten o'clock, just as my wife is leaving for work. She brings it in before she kisses me goodbye, and leaves me to sort through it.

Today was the first of the month.

"It's here, isn't it?" I asked Sylvie.

"Of course it's here," she said. "They have never failed you yet." She handed over the plain white envelope with my name and address neatly hand-lettered on the front. No return address.

I knew who it was from.

Sylvie waited while I opened it and checked the contents. "Well? What is it this month?"

"Eyeglass screws, butterfly clips, white shoelaces . . . we have most of this stuff. I'll get it together."

"And I'll buy replacements on my way home. Just like always."

"Gotta keep the economy stimulated."

"Gotta keep our socks," she said, and went out the door.

* * *

No one has matching socks in Eerie. One always disappears in the dryer. I've heard of it happening in other places, but in Eerie, there's a reason. Not many people know about the Bureau of Lost under the town, overseeing the removal of hundreds, maybe thousands, of small but necessary objects a day from ordinary households. I was used to walking around with two different socks on.

Sylvie wasn't. When we were first married and settling into domestic bliss, the disappearing socks drove her crazy.

"I **know** I put two blue socks in here!" Sylvie insisted, examining every inch of the inside of the dryer in case it was hidden in a seam or something.

"You did," I said. "One always disappears."

"Someone is stealing our socks!"

"No, they just . . . go missing."

"So what do we do, then?"

"We go out and buy more."

"And how long do we keep doing this? We are not made of money to buy socks with! No, I am keeping my socks!"

"You don't understand-"

But there was no getting through to her. She went out and bought a hundred safety pins, and pinned each pair of socks together before putting them into the wash cycle.

"There," she said. "Now we will see whose socks are whose!"

"I'm telling you, it's not gonna work."

"What, will they steal my pins too?"

Not quite. When the dryer was done, we opened it to find the usual load of single socks, each one with a safety pin still attached.

There was also a note that read _Thanks, but we have enough pins._

Sylvie screamed with frustration. "Who is **doing** this? Why would they steal my socks?"

"They steal everybody's socks. It's just what they do. It's why you can never find a pen cap or a paper clip when you need one."

"They can keep their paper clips and their pen caps! I want my socks! We have no money to keep throwing away on socks! Can't you talk to these lost people and explain that we need our things?"

"I've got an idea, actually. How would you feel about wearing the same color socks for the rest of your life?"

She looked at me dubiously. "How will that help?"

"Just hear me out. We buy as many identical pairs of socks as we can find. How about white? Is white a good color?"

"I can live with white."

So we went out and bought up every package of white socks that the World of Stuff had in stock. We're talking fifty packages of socks here, enough for the rest of our lives. It took about a week for us to build up enough to wash, and when we did, we documented exactly how many went in, and waited to see how many would come out.

Fifteen pairs of socks went into that first load-six of mine and nine of hers. We left the pins off this time, but made a little mark on the inside of each one with permanent marker so we could tell whose were whose. Blue for mine, green for hers.

It was the longest wash cycle of my life. I literally sat in front of the dryer watching the clothes go around for the better part of an hour, but it felt like a year. When the buzzer finally went off, it was so unexpected I practically jumped out of my seat.

"Now we will see." Sylvie opened the door and handed me the checklist of how many socks we were supposed to have. She counted them one by one, separating into blue-dot piles and green-dot piles. Out of thirty socks, twelve blue and eighteen green, we ended up with seven blue-dot socks and eleven green-dotted ones.

"Now what?" she asked me.

"Now we wait for the next load."

The next week was the same, only this time we ended up with eight out of twelve blue and ten out of eighteen green.

"No matches for the odd ones last time," she noted.

"We're not giving up. Let's see what happens next week."

I figured it would take a while for my plan to come to fruition, and I was right. We went through three more wash cycles and lost a total of twenty-seven more socks before there was a knock on the door.

When Sylvie opened it, there stood a man in a dark blue coverall and a peaked cap, holding a clipboard.

"Enough with the socks already!" he exclaimed.

Sylvie turned and shouted over her shoulder, "Marshall, it's for you!"

He wasn't pleased to see me. "I should have known. The only person who's ever tricked me into returning lost property!"

"Hello, Lodgepoole."

"We need you to stop with all the white socks! We're inundated with white socks! Can't you pick another color? We're well below our quota on blue!"

"I like white socks. They're practical **and** fashionable. And buying identical socks means we worry less about having to match them up."

He gave me a hard stare. "What do you want?"

"I want to make a deal."

"We don't make deals! Just stop with the socks already!"

"Okay," I said. "We could mix it up a little. **If** you do something for me."

"That's not how it works!"

"Too bad. Enjoy your mountain of white socks." I started to close the door.

"Wait!"

"Yes?" I held the door open a crack, just enough to see him.

"I suppose . . . we could take extra socks from everyone else, and leave you alone."

"Sounds reasonable. What do you need me to do for you?"

"Help us meet our other quotas. This month we need . . ." He flipped pages on his clipboard until he came to the right one. "Ah, here it is. Red ballpoint pens, elastic bands, white thumb tacks, and . . . small spring clips."

"Spring clips?"

"The kind you use to close up the bag of chocolate chips you're always sneaking from."

"Oh." What, did they have cameras in my house? "Don't tell my wife, okay?"

"Just leave them in random places around the house, and we'll do the rest. And don't forget to buy replacements!"

"And in return, you'll leave our socks alone?"

"Yes, yes, whatever! Do we have a deal?"

"I suppose. Wait, does that list change every month?"

He nodded. "First of the month, the new list arrives."

"Can you leave a copy of that in my mailbox? In a plain white envelope, so no one else catches on."

He looked over his shoulder at the other houses on the block. "Young man, we've been doing this for longer than you think. If no one's caught on in all that time, I doubt they ever will."

"That's true." It's always amazed me that no one else in Eerie has ever noticed how strange things can get. Even if I told them, they wouldn't believe me. It's always been that way.

"I'll put a copy of this month's list in the mailbox by the end of this week. The new ones will get to you a day after I get them. You'd better hold up your end of the bargain, Mr. Teller, or you'll find yourself with no socks at all!" And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked off down the front walk.

Sylvie came up behind me just as I was closing the door. "What was that all about?"

"Just making sure our socks are safe. Can you help me with something?"

"Sure. What?"

"I need to find some red pens, rubber bands, and those little spring clips you put on the packages of chocolate chips."

"The ones you sneak bits from when you think I don't notice?"

I turned to look at her. She had a fiendish smile on her face. "You know about that?"

"Losing the clips means you won't be able to dip into the chocolates. Unless you want to eat naked cookies."

"I'll buy you a replacement package."

"Fair enough."

The next wash day, we sat in front of the dryer, waiting to see what would happen this time. Our usual fifteen pairs of socks had gone in, and when we opened the door at last and counted socks, we came up with . . . thirty. Fifteen pairs. Six blue, nine green. Exactly what we had put in.

"It's over, then," she said, balling her socks together and plopping them into the basket.

"As long as we keep up our end of the bargain. This month it's laser pointers, right gloves-"

"Men's or women's?"

"Doesn't say."

"What else?"

I tried to remember the list. "Hair clips, I think."

"Like this?" Sylvie undid the barrettes from her hair and dropped them on the floor. "He can have them. As long as I have my socks."


	5. The King is Dead--Or is He?

I was walking my six-year-old home from the bus stop when he asked, "Daddy, is Mr. King the really real Elvis?"

I didn't know how to answer that.

One of the strangest discoveries that I made, shortly after we moved here, was that Elvis, or someone who looked amazingly like him, lived on my paper route. He always answered the door in either a white sequined jumpsuit, or his equally-sequined bathrobe. He tipped really well, too.

What was even more amazing was that everyone in town apparently knew who he was, but no one ever seemed to care. He was just part of the town landscape, like the Civil War statue or the duck pond.

How he ended up babysitting my son three days a week is another story.

* * *

When Jack started kindergarten last year, it was a big adjustment. It would be the first time that both kids would be in separate schools; Holly at the daycare/preschool down the block, and Jack at the elementary school across town. He would be riding the bus, which meant that I would have to walk with him to the bus stop before dropping Holly off, and because Jack got out at noon, I would need to meet him at the bus stop in the middle of the day and walk him home, and then pick up Holly at five as usual.

"Don't forget me," Jack said, the night before his first day of school.  
"I won't forget you," I reassured him.

"I mean it, Dad. Don't get so busy that you forget to check your watch."

"I'll set the alarm, so I don't forget."

"Make sure it's loud."

"I will."

"I know you put your headphones on sometimes when you're working, so you might not hear it."

"Jack," I said, "if you get to the bus stop and by some quirk of fate, I'm not there, I want you to go to Mrs. Minelli's house and call me from there. I've already spoken to her; she said it's okay for you to use her phone in an emergency. You have my cell phone number, right?"

"Uh huh." We'd printed up all the relevant numbers on a little card, which he would keep in his backpack.

"But you won't need to call, cause I'll be there. I'll be there even if I have to fight off a hundred trolls between here and the bus stop."

"What kind of trolls?"

I pretended to think about it. "Well . . . mountain trolls would be easy, cause they're big and dumb. Ice trolls are smarter, though, so they might slow me down a little. But I'll be there. And if the trolls bring reinforcements, I'll have my phone with me, so I'll call and let you know I'm on my way."

He giggled. "Save some trolls for me, Dad!"

"I will. Go to sleep, Tadpole. Don't want to be late on your first day."

I tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, and then I went to my office to finish my latest manuscript. Along the way, Sylvie stopped me.

"Is he all right?"

"He's fine," I told her. "He's worried about me missing him at the bus stop."

"I could change to the dinner shift and be there in the afternoon."

I shook my head. "We talked about this. The lunch rush is when they need you most, and dinner time is when **we** need you most. I'll be there, I promise."

"You won't get caught up in your work and forget?"

"I'll set all kinds of alarms to remind myself. Don't worry about a thing. I'll be there."

Ah, the proverbial Famous Last Words. Even knowing what was about to happen couldn't stop it from happening. I need to learn that whenever I say that something absolutely, positively, will not happen, that's the only thing that **will** happen.

Eerie. Gotta love a place where million-to-one chances happen nine times out of ten.

* * *

Jack reminded me three more times not to forget him: once at the breakfast table, again when I was helping him on with his jacket, and then again when we made it to the bus stop. It wasn't until the bus pulled up and Jack got in line to board the big yellow behemoth that the reality hit me: my baby was growing up. One day they're boarding the bus to kindergarten; the next they're getting ready for college. I felt really sad . . . and really old, all of a sudden.

"Don't forget!" Jack called one last time, out the window. I waved to him until the bus was out of sight, and then I went home. (Sylvie had already dropped off Holly, so as not to interfere with a poignant father/son moment.)

I started work on a particularly difficult chapter. I had my headphones on, but the volume was low enough to just be audible. My cell phone was in my pocket, my watch alarm was set and activated, and I had even brought in the bedroom alarm clock and set that as well.

The next thing I knew, I glanced up at the clock.

It was 12:25.

I uttered a word that I wouldn't have dared use if the kids had been in earshot, and rushed out the door. I didn't expect him to still be at the bus stop, but I thought he might be waiting in Lucy Minelli's house. Lucy and I had gone to school together, back when she had still been Lucy Hanlon.

I rang her doorbell and waited. It took her a while to answer; she had a one-and-a-half-year-old and newborn twins, all of whom kept her busy. She had volunteered to be the bus stop mom because "I'm home all day anyway."

When she finally came to the door, she looked confused.

"He's not here," she said before I could even open my mouth to ask her. "He **was** here, but he left. He thought you might be walking down, so he went to meet you."

"Really? I thought I told him to wait here. I'll call around; maybe he went to a friend's house."

"I hope you find him." There was the wail of stereo crying from inside the house. "Gotta go. The two-headed monster awakes."

"Need an extra pair of hands to-"

"No, no, I'm good. Just go find Jack. I'm coming, I'm coming!" She didn't quite slam the door in my face, but she closed it in a hurry.

I was on my own. Great.

I called all of Jack's friends, but none of them had seen him since getting off the bus. Missy Bogart had seen him going into Mrs. Minelli's house, but she had left after that and hadn't seen him come out. No one had.

Now I was really getting nervous. I was about to start knocking on doors when a white van with KELLEY HOME REPAIR on the side lumbered past.

Of course! Dash!

He'd been doing some work in the neighborhood; maybe he'd stopped to pick Jack up. Only one way to find out.

The first time I called, it rang three times and then went to voice mail. "You've reached Dash X Contracting. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

I hung up, figuring he was on the road, and waited about five minutes. The second time I called, he answered right away.

"Hey, Mars."

"Is Jack with you?"

"Why would Jack be with me? Didn't he go to school today?"

"Yeah, but I forgot to meet the bus, and by the time I got there, he was gone. I thought you might have picked him up along the way."

"No, I haven't seen him. You tried calling around?"

"I've called everywhere he could possibly be. He isn't anywhere! Oh my God, I'm such a bad parent! How could I **lose** him like-"

"Marshall! You're panicking. Stop, take a deep breath, and think logically. Maybe while you've been canvassing the neighborhood, he went home. Try there."

"You're right. Thanks, Dash."

"Any time."

I hung up and headed home, hoping against hope that I'd find Jack sitting on the back porch, or if he'd been lucky enough to knock down the spare key, sitting on the couch watching _Ninja Turtles_. I was almost to the corner when I heard something.

Singing.

Someone close by was singing "Hound Dog"-and that someone sounded a lot like Jack.

I followed the sound until I reached a familiar house. This had been my favorite stop on my paper route, way back when. How many kids could say that they personally brought Elvis his evening paper every day? He always thanked me, in his characteristic way, and he always tipped me at least five bucks. Sometimes ten, and during the holidays he always slipped a hundred-dollar bill into an envelope as a Christmas bonus.

But it wasn't just the money. He was a fun guy, who loved performing whenever he had the chance. He crashed parties, took over town meetings and political rallies, and headlined karaoke night at the Eerie Tavern. And now it seemed he was passing on his talent to the next generation.

I hated to interrupt, but Jack had to come home. I rang the doorbell, which played "Don't Be Cruel." I've always liked that.

The door opened, and there he was, looking pretty much the same as always. His hair had gone all white now, but it was still styled in the classic pompadour. He looked at me for a second, and then he snapped his fingers. "Paper boy!"

"You remember me." Too bad he didn't seem to know my name. "Is my son here?"

"Oh, sure. Jacky boy!" he called back into the house. "Yer daddy's here!"

Jack came to the door. "Hi, Dad."

"Buddy, I am so sorry I wasn't at the bus stop for you. I was working, and I lost track of time."

He didn't seem too upset about it. "I figured it was something like that."

"Why didn't you stay at Mrs. Minelli's?"

"I wanted to walk down and meet you. I was almost there when Mr. King saw me and said I could wait at his house. He's got a lot of really cool stuff!"

"I'll bet. Let's go home now, buddy."

"Okay. Bye, Mr. King! Thank you!"

"No problem, little man."

"Thanks so much," I said. "I was going out of my mind wondering where he could be."

"My pleasure. I get so lonely, y'know? I ain't never even seen my own grandkids. Havin' him around . . . it's kinda fun. If ya want, we could make this a reg'lar thing."

That sounded like it might be a good idea. "Sure. Tuesday afternoons?"

"Lookin' forward to it. Uh huh huh."

It worked out really well for us. Tuesday soon turned into Tuesday and Thursday, and then Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. The King even offered to take Holly as well when she starts kindergarten next year, but I've warned him that she's a little high-maintenance.

"Well, hell," he said. "So was my ex-wife."

* * *

So when Jack asked me, out of the blue, if the King was the real Elvis, I didn't know how to answer that.

"What do you think?" I asked him.

He wasn't buying my evasion. "I asked **you**!"

"Well, just tell me, what brought this on?"

He sighed. "I was looking up stuff for my oral report."

"You have oral reports in first grade?"

"Only a five-minute one. My teacher said it's supposed to be on someone we admire. So I said I wanted to do you, but she said it has to be someone who's no longer living. Anyway, I decided to do it on Elvis, so I asked Miss Dana to help me research."

Dana Stone is the librarian at Jack's school. Dash is doing some work on her house, so Jack has met her socially a few times. I think he really likes her.

"And?" I asked, expecting that someone had removed the entire section on Elvis from the encyclopedia. Wouldn't have surprised me.

"And it said that Elvis died in 1977. So Mr. King **can't** be the real Elvis. But he got everything right! How could he know so much if he's **not**?"

"I don't know, Jack."

"But if he **is** really Elvis, then I can't do my report on him! And it's due Monday! I'll never have time to look up somebody else before Monday!"

"Okay, calm down." Yeah, Jack has kind of inherited my tendency to get carried away sometimes. "The truth is, I don't know if Mr. King is really Elvis. There's a lot of evidence both pro and con, starting with the fact that Elvis died in August 1977, and Mr. King, under a different name, bought his house in September 1977."

"So it is him?"

"Maybe not. He could be somebody who just liked Elvis a lot and wanted to be like him. Evidence also points to him being a former Elvis impersonator-that means someone who would dress up like Elvis and perform in clubs and stuff-named Fred Sanderson. So we don't really know."

"You've done a lot of research on this, haven't you, Dad?"

"I did. A long time ago. I wanted to find out the truth once and for all . . . but someone pointed out to me that the truth isn't always a good thing."

* * *

 _"Okay, this is it." Simon spread a bunch of papers on the table in front of us. We were in a back booth at the World of Stuff, and in the middle of a weekday afternoon, no one was around to bother us. "I went to the Town Hall and looked up the deed for the house. It lists the buyer as a Mr. John Carpenter."_

 _"So it's not him," said Dash._

 _I gave him a look. "John Carpenter was one of Elvis' most well-known aliases."_

 _"So it could still be him."_

 _"Or someone pretending to be him. What have you got in the Fred Sanderson file?"_

 _Dash pulled out a notebook. "Fred Sanderson had a regular show at the Muncie Holiday Inn from March 1972 until September 1977. Then he just dropped off the map. His wife hired a private investigator, but the guy turned up nothing. She had him declared legally dead in 1984 and remarried."_

 _"So we're back to square one." I slumped my shoulders, dejected. We'd been so close! I just knew the truth was out there. We just had to find it._

 _"What are you boys up to? School project?"_

 _We looked up. Mr. Radford was hanging over the table, glancing at our pages but not really snooping. "Not really," I said._

 _"We're trying to find out if the guy in the white satin jumpsuit is really . . . you know," said Simon._

 _"Really? Well, you know, if I were you, I wouldn't look too closely."_

 _"Why is that?" I asked._

 _Radford dragged a chair over and sat down. "Well . . . suppose that this individual really is Elvis. Makes sense, doesn't it? He got tired of being a celebrity and moved to a nice, quiet community where no one would bother him. So far, so good. But now, if you boys go to the papers and tell them that Elvis is living in our town, what happens next?"_

 _I shrugged. "I thought everyone knew anyway."_

 _"Not outsiders! See, here in Eerie, we know how to keep secrets. But it's not like that everywhere. If everyone else in the world found out he was here, they'd all come to town. There'd be miles of traffic in the streets, crowds everywhere trying to catch a glimpse of him, just general chaos. He wouldn't even be able to go out of his house. Which is why he faked his own death in the first place. I mean, **if** he did."_

 _"I guess you're right."_

 _We filed all the notes and papers in a folder labeled "Elvis Investigation," and stowed them away in the Evidence Locker. Much as I hated to drop a case before reaching a conclusion, Mr. Radford was right. Knowing the truth, in this case, would not be a good thing._

* * *

I explained all this to Jack while we walked the rest of the way home, and when we were at the back door, he asked, "Do people in town think he's the real Elvis or not?"

"Well, that's hard to say," I told him. "Everyone goes along with it because it's a harmless delusion, if it is a delusion, and because he's such a nice guy that we don't want to upset him. Maybe some of the people who were here in 1977 know the truth. We'll never know for sure."

"Maybe I should do my report on someone else, just to be safe."

"Okay. We can get something ready by Monday. Who are the other kids in your class doing their reports on?"

"Well," he said, scrunching up his face, "I don't know all of them, but I know Margot's doing John F. Kennedy. Devon's doing John Lennon. Malia said she wants to do Martin Luther King, and Sandra's doing hers on Rosa Parks."

"That's only a few. There's still a lot of dead people you could choose from."

"I don't want to do somebody obvious, like George Washington. It doesn't have to be someone famous, but my teacher said it should be someone who's made a difference in my life."

"How about Jacques Cousteau?"

"Dad!" He glared at me, clearly not appreciating my attempt at humor. "This is serious!"

"Okay. I'll think of someone. Let me just get some paper and pencils out of my office."

It was while I was gathering up some computer paper and a couple of sharpened pencils that I happened to glance up and saw the framed obituary that's been hanging on the wall for ten years. Funny how you can see something a thousand times, and then all of a sudden one day it strikes you.

"I just got a great idea," I told Jack, "of someone you can do your report on. And I know for a fact he's dead, because I spoke at his funeral."

Jack knew immediately who I was talking about. "I don't think anyone else will pick **him**."

"Come on, I'll help you with your research."

* * *

"Dr. Charles Furnell was a scientist who studied the human brain," Jack's report began. "He wanted to preserve intelligence for future generations, so he built a device he called the Brainalyzer. Nobody's ever seen it, because in 1979, he destroyed it, ripped up all the blueprints, and had a nervous breakdown. He ended up here in Eerie, where he lived for years without anyone knowing who he was.

"In 1992 he moved to Ohio with his wife, and he spent the last few years of his life teaching high school science. He died in 2005, but his genius lives on: there's a scholarship fund in his name at the high school he taught at, and next year the university is naming their new building after him.

"What I've learned from him is to keep your mind open. Always look for new ideas and new experiences, cause you never know what's waiting out there for you. Your life could change in ways you never expected."

He got an A. And I only helped a little.


	6. Flashback Friday

**1993**

"What's a groove thing," Simon asked, "and how do you shake it?"

I shook my head. "I don't know, but I'm glad I wasn't born till the end of the Seventies. It's a fashion disaster down there. My dad does **not** look good in polyester."

"Do you think in twenty years, we'll have Nineties parties?"

"God, I hope not," said Dash. "If I ever do anything that looks like that, shoot me. I mean it. I'd rather die than embarrass myself like that."

"Ah, they're just having fun," I said.

We were sitting at the top of the stairs, watching my parents and their friends disco-dancing the night away. It was pretty embarrassing, all right, but they didn't seem to mind.

"Maybe nostalgia's not such a bad thing," I added. "Although if we ever do have a party like this, at least we could pick a decade with better fashion sense."

"Yeah, whatever." Dash stood up. "I'm done watching _Saturday Night Fever, The Senior Years._ You coming, or do I have to watch Buckaroo Banzai save the universe all by myself?"

Simon and I looked at each other and shrugged. "Okay," I said.

"I meant what I said, by the way. I am never, ever, doing anything that undignified. Not if my life depended on it."

* * *

 **Present Day**

"Do you think the posters are too much?" Sylvie asked me.

I looked around. "I don't even know what half these movies are."

"I asked the man at the shop for everything from the Eighties. This is what he gave me. I don't know what they are, either, but I think they help set the tone. Or should we have more streamers?"

"Where did you find neon streamers?"

"At the party shop. They have them in all colors."

"I should have guessed."

"I've got the cake!" Simon came rushing in, carrying a rectangular white box. "Where should I put it?"

"Let me see it first," I said.

He brought it over and opened the box. Written across the bright green frosting was HAPPY SORT OF BIRTHDAY DASH! 38?

"Sort of birthday?" Sylvie frowned at the inscription.

"Well, see," I explained, "we don't know when Dash's actual birthday is, or how old he is. So he picked a date at random. One that wasn't too close to the holidays, didn't have anything else going on, and wouldn't interfere with anyone else's birthday. We think he's a year older than me, but we can't be sure."

"It seems strange to celebrate on a date that may be the wrong day," she observed.

"Better than him having no birthday at all."

"That is true."

The doorbell rang, signaling the first of our many guests. Most of them were dressed in something resembling Eighties fashion-neon, spandex, parachute pants, shoulder pads, and the ever-popular Members Only jackets. Eerie's vintage clothes shop, Throwback, must have done a booming business all week long.

"Is this a surprise party?" Melanie asked. She and her husband were done up as Sean Penn and Madonna.

"Not really," I said. "Since the theme was his idea and all."

"I thought he hated nostalgia."

"Only the dumb stuff. Sixties is kind of cool, Seventies is embarrassing, but Eighties rocks!"

"What kind of nostalgia parties will our kids have, do you think?"

"I don't know. I think the best decades ended with the twentieth century. But who am I to judge?"

The party was supposed to start at eight, and everyone was there by ten past. Dash, in his characteristic style, didn't show up till eight-thirty; he likes to make a big entrance.

"Hey, hey, awesome people!" He was all dressed up in 80's metal style, leather pants, chains, scarves, and all. On anyone else it would have looked silly, but he made it look really cool. Still, I was glad I had gone with something a bit more conventional.

Dana was hanging on his arm, her hair teased up as big as she could get it, her neon jelly bracelets dancing. "This looks great," she said. "Just like my sister's parties back in the day."

We cranked the music up as loud as the neighbors would allow us, and danced the night away. Or at least, danced until eleven o'clock came and we had to get back to our kids. It was a very nice party; it was great to see everyone, and no one made a spectacle of themselves or drank too much and got rowdy.

It was when everyone got their coats and started out the door that things got weird.

"Good night," I said to each of my friends as I ushered them out the door. "Thanks for coming. Great seeing you, Brian."

"Hey, where's my car?" He peered past me, keys in hand.

"It should be right where you left it, shouldn't-?" I looked out the door at the empty driveway. Not even our own car was there.

But that wasn't the worst thing.

"Forget the car," said Emily Montclair, who lived across the street. "Where's my **house**?"

* * *

A state of panic had descended over the remains of what had not too long ago been a lively birthday party.

"My kids!" Andrea was frantically dialing her phone and getting only an out-of-service tone in response. "Why can't I get a signal?"

"Go check the Wi-Fi," Sylvie advised me.

So I went into my office to check the computer, and . . . it wouldn't turn on. The power was fine; the lights came on when I flipped the switch. But there were no lights on the router, and the desktop wouldn't boot up at all.

I tried my smartphone; it showed no bars at all, and the little symbol for Wi-Fi connection was missing. Something was up.

I came back out and said, "Our router appears to be down. You can use the house phone if you need to make a call."

"That's not all that's down." Melanie's husband (I'd been introduced earlier but had completely forgotten his name) was flipping around channels on the TV. More than half of them were static. "I can't get anything but the basic channels."

"Wait-go back," Simon said suddenly. "Wow, I haven't seen that show in a long time!"

"Yeah, no wonder," said Melanie's husband. (Brad? Brent? I'd remember eventually.) "Look at the logo in the corner. Channel 42."

"Didn't they get bought out by WB?" asked Todd. "Like, fifteen years ago?"

"Maybe it's some kind of retrospective," I mused. "Or a documentary. This has to be old footage."

That's what we thought, until the commercial came on-a commercial for the 1987 Honda Civic. And it didn't look like archive footage that someone had dug up. It looked brand new. After that came a toy commercial, for a doll with streaks in her hair and a rap-rock boombox. I remembered Syndi having one of those when we were kids.

"What is going on here?" I went and looked out the door again, hoping that we'd been seeing things the first time and everything would be normal again.

No such luck. Instead of Emily's house, with its white picket fence and two-car garage, there was only an empty field. Our house was the only one on the whole street.

Our guests were approaching a state of panic, worrying about getting back to their kids, their pets, their lives. What could I do? What could I tell them when I didn't really understand what was going on myself?

"Everybody shut up!" Simon shouted. He picked up the phone and dialed the number for the current time and date. Nobody had bothered with it in years, since our phones always told us the day and time. But right now, our phones were no help.

He listened for a minute, and then he hit the button for the speaker phone. At least that was still working.

 _"_ _Today is Friday, September nineteenth, nineteen eighty-six. At the tone, the time will be eleven-oh-seven."_

He hung up. The room was dead silent.

* * *

Someone had to say something. So I broke the silence by saying, "Listen, everybody!"

Their eyes turned to me.

"I don't know how it happened, but it seems we've gone back in time. The house seems to be intact, but everything around it has changed. Somehow we were moved backwards in time, and if we can figure out how it happened, maybe we can reverse the process. I know you're all worried about your families and your homes. Let's assume for now that 2016 is still there, still waiting for us, up ahead. Everyone there is safe. We need to find a way to get us back there as soon as possible."

"I know someone who can help us," Dash said. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Who do we know who's around now and knows all about time warps and weird space stuff?"

"William Shatner?" Simon guessed.

Dash gave him a frustrated look. "I think you left your brain in 2016," he said. "Marshall, you come with me. He likes you."

"He doesn't even know me!"

"He will. Come on."

I knew where we were going, although I'd only been there once, back when we were kids. The Loyal Order of Corn was still in the same place, exactly where it had been since 1908.

"You sure he'll be here?"

"Positive," Dash assured me. "He's got a room in the back where he keeps all his stuff. Doesn't sleep much, I guess."

"And you know this how?"

"He gave me the tour when he hired me."

"Six years from now. Hey, wouldn't it be amazing if you ran into yourself here?"

"Not this time of night. I'd be in bed by now." He approached the service door and knocked on it.

The door was opened almost immediately. Ned gave us the once-over and said, "We're closed!"

"Ned, come on. We need your help."

"I have no idea who you are . . . or why you're dressed like that. Did you get lost on your way to a Head and the Bangers concert?"

"We're lost, all right," I said. "In time. Let us in and we'll explain everything."

"Oh, dear," he said. "I was afraid of this. Well, come on in. We don't have a lot of time, so talk fast."

Dash went straight to the bar and poured himself a stiff drink. "Aah," he sighed. "The good stuff. Only the best for the members, right, Ned?"

"I still don't know who you are or what you're doing here."

"Maybe this will help." Dash put down the glass and slowly removed his fingerless black leather gloves. He held up his hands and turned them around so the backs were showing. "Recognize these?"

Ned saw the mathematical symbols and went pale. "Where did you get those tattoos? And why?"

"I don't know. See, I don't think they're tattoos. I think they're brands. Someone or something burned these into my hands so that they could find me again. And I know you have the same marks. No matter what you told me before, I think we're connected. So you have to help us. We just want to go home."

Ned looked serious. "If what you're saying is true, young man, then it's more important than ever that I help you. Come with me."

I knew where we were going. I'd been there before, but only by accident. This time, I was determined not to touch anything.

The Inner Sanctum, or Control Center, or whatever it was, was exactly as I remembered it. The screen was there, but it was dark. I wasn't about to try and turn it on.

Quickly I explained to Ned what had happened to us. Dash confirmed everything I told him. "You think I dress like this all the time?" he quipped.

"I was running an experiment earlier this evening," Ned explained, "using tachyons. You know what those are?"

I nodded. "Particles that travel in time."

"My hypothesis is this: the tachyons I was manipulating somehow crossed with the vibrations from your music, and dragged you back here. Now, I think I can reverse the effect, but I'll need your help. If you can provide the proper vibrations, I'll come through with the tachyons. But we don't have a lot of time."

He pointed to the clock on the wall. It was twenty past eleven. "The experiment will be carried out at precisely midnight. I can't wait any longer than that. If you and your friends can keep up the music-music from your era-long enough, I can get you back. But you must be in place by midnight!"

"We've got time," I said. "Thanks, Ned. See you in about six years."

"I just have one question." Dash looked the older man straight in the eye. "Am I . . . you? I mean, do I grow up to be you?"

Ned just smiled and shook his head. "A simple explanation, but sadly, incorrect. I'm sorry, my boy. I'm sure you'll find out who you really are soon enough. Now hurry home and start making some vibrations!"

* * *

When we got home, Dana met us at the door and told us we had a problem.

"Andrea left," she said.

"What do you mean, left?" Dash asked her.

"She said something about her kids and took off running."

"Great," I muttered. I glanced at my watch: eleven-thirty. "We'll never catch her on foot. She medaled in track all through high school."

"If only we had a car."

Simon came up to us, grinning from ear to ear. "I know where we can get a car," he said.

* * *

I knew where we were going as soon as he told us. After all, I'd lived next door for years. Even though I knew we wouldn't move into the house for years, I still glanced over at the second-floor window that had been/would be my room and wondered if my own kids were okay.

"My dad was always leaving his keys in the car," Simon explained as he groped around in the bushes. "So my mom hid an extra set of keys out here . . . somewhere . . . got 'em!" He emerged clutching a shiny set of keys with a fob advertising Donato Ford, which had closed down in 2002.

"Gimme those." Dash reached for the keys, but I took them instead.

"No way. I'm driving."

"You drive like an old lady! You heard what Ned said-we don't have a lot of time!"

"I know that! Now get in the car."

He went around to the passenger side, but Simon got there first. "I've never in my life ridden in the front seat of this car," he said. "Please?"

Dash sighed, like it was a big imposition for him to change seats. "Fine. How're we gonna get the car back?"

"We don't have to. When I was a little kid, our car got stolen. It turned up on the other side of town the next morning. The cops said someone must have gone for a joyride. We just leave the car, and they'll find it in the morning. The perfect crime."

I tried to insert the key into the ignition, but it was the wrong one. "Wow, they had different keys for the door locks and the ignition? Weird."

"After the car got stolen, Dad kept the two keys on different keyrings. That way, if someone tried to steal the car, they could get in but they couldn't start the car. Or vice-versa."

"Which way is Andrea's house?" I asked.

"Two blocks south of Nichols Street," Simon directed me.

"Can we cut down Champion and cut her off?"

"Only if you want to drive through an open field," said Dash. "They haven't built Champion Street yet. Stick to the main roads."

I was struck by how quiet everything was. Even though it was late at night, there was usually some traffic on the roads, coming home from somewhere. The streets were as empty as a ghost town.

"Hey, there she is!" Simon spotted Andrea, running along the side of the road with her spike heels clutched in one hand.

"She's gonna ruin her stockings that way," I said. I pulled alongside her and rolled the window down. "Andrea!" I said. "Get in!"

She stopped and looked at me in utter astonishment. "Marshall? Where'd you get the car?"

"We, um, borrowed it. Come on, we have to get back to my house before midnight!"

"I have to go check on my kids!"

"Your kids are fine, up the time stream. I promise you, I'll get you back to your kids, but you have to come with us now. We have to be back by midnight or it won't work."

"What won't?"

"I'll explain later." I reached for the door lock button, but there weren't any. "How do I unlock the door?"

"Like this, genius." Dash reached over and pulled up the button.

"Thanks, man. Move over so Andrea can get in."

"But there's a baby seat here!"

"There's room! You'll fit! Move!"

Grumbling, Dash slid over and made room. He was stuck with his feet on the hump and his knees up around his ears, but he put up with it on the short ride home.

We left the car at the end of the street and ran back. Hopefully no one else had abandoned ship while we were gone.

"Everyone!" I called out as soon as we were through the door. "I know how to get us back, but I need your help." I outlined the basics of our situation and Ned's plan. "We need some music from our era. Anyone have some new tunes on their phones? I'll hook you up." Thankfully I'd used a docking speaker instead of Bluetooth, a technology that hadn't been invented yet.

"I've got a playlist my kids made me," Andrea said, unlocking her phone and handing it over. "Are you sure we'll get back?"

"Positive." The list looked good; I didn't recognize half the artists, but hopefully the songs would have some good vibrations. I docked it and hit Play.

"Pull the blinds down!" I called to Sylvie and Melanie, who were near the front windows. "I have a feeling that whenever whatever it is happens, we won't want to see it."

They looked at me strangely, but closed the blinds anyway. Why take chances?

I looked at the clock on the cable box: 11:59. "Okay, hit it!"

And the music played. Some of us danced. Some just waited for whatever it was to happen.

"I'll tell you one thing," said Dash, as Dana leaned on his arm. "This is one birthday I'll never forget."

I didn't feel any sense of movement, but then, I hadn't when we traveled back, either. The playlist was fourteen minutes long. When the music shut off, another sound shrilled into our ears.

The trill of a ringtone.

It was followed by various beeps and chirps of text messages and online alerts. Distantly, I heard the whirr of the Wi-Fi booting up again.

"Open the blinds," I said, afraid to look myself. Maybe we'd gone too far and there would be flying cars and killer robots. Maybe we'd somehow gone further back and would all be devoured by a rampaging T-Rex. I wouldn't know till I looked.

Sylvie let out a sigh of relief. "It's back," she said. "It's all back. The cars, the houses . . . all of it. We're home."

I glanced up for a second. Though I knew he couldn't hear me, having gone back to his home planet a long time ago, I said, "Thanks, Ned."

* * *

Nostalgia is fun, but you wouldn't want to really live in the past. Enjoy the here and now. As Billy Joel once said, "The good old days weren't always good, and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems."


	7. Return to Wolf Mountain

"Move out of the way, Simon," Dash said calmly.

"No! I won't let you shoot him!"

"We don't have a choice! He's gone full Chaney on us! Don't worry, I'll aim for an arm or a leg or somewhere non-vital."

"What if you miss?"

"We've got two dozen bullets. One of them ought to stop him."

"You might hit him in the head and kill him!"

"Look, if we stand around talking about this much longer, we'll all be dead! Get back!"

And suddenly there was a booming crack as the rifle went off.

* * *

TWO DAYS EARLIER

"Here you are, boys," Mr. Radford said, setting a small but heavy box on the table in front of us. "Twenty-four silver bullets. Your insurance policy."

"I don't think we'll need this," I said. "We're just going up on Wolf Mountain to film the annual werewolf migration. We're not getting close to them."

Dash gave me a pointed look.

"Really, I'm fine," I insisted. "Once a month I get a little hairy, but that's it. I've never in all these years lost control."

"You've never been around other wolves before," Mr. Radford pointed out.

"Actually," I said, "you're wrong. There was this guy in my unit in the Army who turned out to be a werewolf."

Simon's eyes went wide. "No kidding?"

"Nope. His name was Hector Gonzalez, and he was really cool. We read a lot of the same comic books, and we used to geek-talk all the time. And then I found out that wasn't all we had in common."

* * *

It was the night of the full moon, my third in Iraq. Up till now, I'd gotten away with staying indoors on full-moon nights, but this time I was on overnight watch. At least I'd be sitting outside by myself, so I could avoid inconvenient questions.

Then Gonzalez came outside and sat beside me, looking up at the moon.

"That's a pretty one," he said.

"Uh huh." I tried to keep my face turned away from him.

"Does it look bigger than it does at home?"

"A little, yeah."

"You're not looking."

"I was before. I had a good look before you got here."

He put his hand on the top of my head and gently turned it so that I was facing him. "Were those there yesterday?"

I sighed. I had been hoping to avoid having to explain all this. "I was attacked by a werewolf when I was thirteen. I'm lucky that this is all I get."

"You were bitten?"

"More like scratched, but since he kinda slobbered all over me . . . yeah."

"Who did this? What clan?"

"Clan? I don't know. He was just this guy."

"Rogue, huh? What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He ran away, and hasn't been seen since. Why?"

"I'll show you why." Hector went around the corner of the building. There was a rustle of cloth. A moment later, a big dog came trotting up to meet me.

"No way."

The dog looked at me and grinned. Then he scratched WAY in the dirt in front of me. He went back around the corner and Hector came back, tugging his shirt down.

"So now you know," he said. "You're not alone."

I had a million questions I wanted to ask all at once. "What did you mean about clans? Are there more of you? You can control the change? Can you teach me to do that?"

"Whoa, whoa! One thing at a time! Yes, there are clans. I'm part of the Huaravera clan; we came up from Mexico about a hundred years ago. Altogether, counting newbies, there are fifty-four of us."

"Newbies?"

"It's very rare these days for a born werewolf to bite someone accidentally. Your Mr. Chaney must have run into one of the exceptions. Usually we need clearance from the clan leader, the Alpha-and a good reason. The new werewolf then stays with the clan for a year, until he-or she-learns everything they need to know. They usually choose to stay on with the clan, but sometimes they leave. If they do it without permission, they're called rogues, and they're shunned by the other members of the clan. If they're lucky, they can join another clan, provided they can prove themselves worthy. Sometimes a lone rogue will bite another, and pass on the curse."

"And that's what happened to me?"

"Looks that way."

"Is there a cure?"

"Only one I know of," he said. "Silver. It's poison to born werewolves, but if it gets into your bloodstream, it'll kill off the werewolf infection in you."

"That's what happened to Mr. Chaney," I told him. "Mr. Radford shot him in the foot with a silver bullet, and he changed back. So it doesn't have to kill a werewolf to cure him?"

"Not the bitten wolves. Some of the European clans call them changelings. The thing is, the silver has to stay in you for a while in order to work the change back. You can't dig the bullet out right away. And of course if you hit something vital, you might die anyway."

"This is amazing! I never knew there were . . . others."

"Oh, yeah. Not that we all get together a lot-most clans are territorial, and you can't come onto another clan's turf without a good reason. But I knew there was something about you. I could smell it."

"Dude, that's gross."

"You haven't noticed a heightened sense of smell on full moon nights?"

"Mostly I just hide out in my room till morning. It's a little hard to explain to people, you know what I mean?"

"No, you should be out there running! Don't be afraid! Embrace what you are! Next full moon, you and I are going running. I'll show you how to use the gift you've been given!"

"You don't have to-"

"Think of it as long-overdue initiation. After you've been out with me, you'll never want to hide again."

Hector sat with me all night long, even though he didn't have to. Before morning he promised to take me out on a run next full moon.

"How will you manage that?" I asked. The Army doesn't let you wander off without good reason.

"You let me handle that," he said, with a grin.

The night before the next full moon, I found a note on my bunk: TELL HARRISON (our CO) THAT YOU'RE TAKING SKIPPY FOR A WALK. HE'LL GIVE YOU THE OKAY.

"Who the hell is Skippy?" I wondered, but the next evening, after we finished the last meal of the day, I went to Sergeant Harrison, who was in the command tent.

"I need to take Skippy for a walk," I said.

He nodded. "Knock yourselves out. Be back by 2200."

"Thank you, sir."

He looked at me. "Bring a field pack," he said, "and your weapon. Just in case."

"Yes, sir."

I stepped outside and there was a very familiar-looking sitting on his haunches waiting for me.

"Hector-I mean Skippy?"

He barked, stood up, and led the way back to my quarters, where I picked up my weapon and my pack. By the time I headed out, I could feel the whiskers growing in. I hoped we could get a good distance away before anyone noticed.

Once we were safely out of sight, Hector changed back. It was so quick that I missed the actual moment of change. One second he was a wolf, the next he was a human.

"My shorts are in your pack," he said, while I kept my eyes averted. "Just toss 'em to me."

I did so. There was a rustle of fabric, and then I dared to look again. "Your wolf name is Skippy?"

"It is here. At home it's something else."

"And Harrison knows what you are?"

"He's the only one-besides you-who knows the truth. The other guys think I'm a dog who wandered into camp one day and hangs around sometimes. No one's ever noticed that when Skippy's around, I'm not, and vice versa."

"Clark Kent puts on a pair of glasses and becomes a different person. We see what we want to see."

"There's so much more to the world than seeing. Close your eyes."

I did so. "What now?"

"Listen to your other senses. What are they telling you?"

For a moment, there was nothing. Then all at once, it hit me. The sounds of small animals moving nearby. Part of me wanted to chase after them, but the rest of me stayed still and breathed in the deep dark smells of the night.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"I've never felt anything like this. It's like . . . like everything's turned up to 11. Is this what it's like for you all the time?"

"Most of it. My senses are sharp even in human form, but they're amazing in wolf form. You should be there when the whole clan runs together. It's something I just can't describe, man. It's like we all connect and move and think as one."

"That must be really mind-blowing."

"You have no idea. Hang on, someone's coming." There was that rustle of fabric, and I opened my eyes to see Skippy nuzzling my pack. I tucked the discarded shorts inside.

It seemed forever until I heard footsteps approaching, my senses being not quite as sharp as Skippy's. Quickly I snatched up my weapon and made sure it was loaded and ready to go.

It turned out to be Baker from the 14th. "I heard voices out here," he said. "Is that your dog?"

"Yeah, he's with us."

"You should probably head back now. Getting cold out here."

"Is it? I didn't notice." Did my blood run hotter on full moon nights?

"See you back at base, man." He started back down the trail. A few minutes later, I shouldered my pack and headed in the same direction. Skippy was right on my heels.

And that was how it was, every full moon, the whole time I was in Iraq. Before I came home, Hector and I exchanged addresses and phone numbers so we could stay in touch.

"You gotta come out to Baja," he insisted, "and run with the rest of the clan."

"Maybe I will someday," I promised. "Right now I just want to go home."

* * *

"Wow," said Simon, when I finished my story. "So he was like a secret weapon?"

"One that we never got to use, as far as I know. Skippy remained our semi-mascot, and other guys got to walk him after I left, but I don't think anyone else knew his secret. Just me and Sergeant Harrison."

"He's not the only werewolf to serve his country," said Mr. Radford. "I've heard about a whole squadron of wolf soldiers who fought for France in World War Two. Never met any of them, though. And I know for a fact that there were zombies in Vietnam on both sides."

"Yeah, but can you get anyone to confirm it?"

"Probably not. Well, have a good time up on Wolf Mountain, boys."

"Come with us," said Dash. "We could always use a hand."

"Oh, no, I'd never make it till midnight. Some nights I can barely stay awake through the ten o'clock news. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know."

"I hope that when I get to be your age," I told him, "I'm even half as cool as you are."

"I just hope I make it past forty," said Simon.

* * *

We started setting up on the top of the mountain precisely at sunset. It was the first time I'd been to Wolf Mountain since the whole Harvest King thing.

"Will we need to set up the lights?" Dash asked me.

I shook my head. "We don't want to attract too much attention. The infrared filters on the cameras should work fine. We can test it to make sure we get a good picture."

Simon was looking at me intently. "When does . . . it . . . happen? Right at sunset? When it's been dark awhile?"

"Technically," I said, "it's supposed to happen at moonrise, but since the moon's already up, I'm guessing it won't be till it's darker. It varies depending on the time of year and where I am at the time."

"Just don't go all nuts on us." Dash was loading the silver bullets into his rifle, just to be safe.

"He said he's fine!" Simon snapped at him. "Marshall's never gone full-on wolf at the full moon before!"

"First time for everything."

"Put the gun down," I said calmly. "Nothing's gonna happen. We're here to observe and record, and that's that. We're not going to-what are you doing?" I had heard the rustle of cellophane.

Dash held up a small package that was driving my unusually acute sense of smell crazy. "What? I'm hungry."

"I thought we agreed no food! They'll smell it a mile away!"

"It's just a little package of jerky. It'll be gone by the time they come through."

"They'll still smell the traces of it on you. I can smell it from here, and you haven't even opened it yet!"

"Fine, I'll put it in the truck." He stomped off toward the parking area, leaving Simon and me to finish setting up the equipment alone. We didn't mind, though; it would actually go quicker without Dash distracting us.

Once everything was in place, all we had to do was wait. Legend had it that once a year on this night, the werewolves crossed the mountain on their annual migration.

"How will we know if they're werewolves," Simon asked me, "and not just regular wolves?"

"I'll know," I told him. "I know what werewolves smell like." I sniffed the air. Nothing yet. "They'll come."

"Why do they run," Dash mused, "all the way across the country and back again? Must take them weeks."

"It's a cultural thing, I guess. Why do humans get in a big metal chariot and travel all the way to the ocean for a week every July?"

"I'll tell you why," said Simon. "Cause **someone** is too chicken to fly!"

"I am not chicken! Air travel is dangerous! Do you know how many plane crashes there were last year?"

Simon had no patience for this argument. "More people are killed in car crashes than in plane crashes. The highways are more dangerous than the skies! Yet you won't get on a plane and let us get to New Jersey two days sooner. Why is that?"

"If God had wanted man to fly, he would have given us wings!"

"Thought you didn't believe in God."

"I acknowledge he exists. I just don't worship Him."

"Guys, stop it!" I said. Or meant to say; it came out as a growl. Literally.

The two of them stopped arguing and looked at me. "Does he look . . . hairier to you?" Dash asked Simon.

"Well, yeah-"

"I mean more than normal. Look at his hands."

I glanced down. My hands were slowly growing a cover of thick, dark fur . . . and my fingernails were lengthening into claws.

"What's happening to me?" It came out as a long, mournful howl.

From far down in the valley, I heard an answering howl.

"Oh, great," Dash muttered. "The wolves are here. He's calling them up here to slaughter us!"

"Marshall?" Simon looked up at me, but didn't dare get closer than arm's length away from me. "I know you're in there! Please stop this! You don't want to hurt us! You don't wanna hurt anyone!"

"They're coming!" Dash ran and hid behind a tree, as if that would mask his presence from acute wolf senses.

Everything was all confused inside my head. There were thoughts running around in there that didn't seem to be mine. I was looking at Simon and part of me was thinking "friend." But another part didn't seem to recognize him at all. I could feel something prickling on the back of my neck, even as my muscles prepared to spring.

Then I heard the clack-clack of the rifle.

"Move out of the way, Simon," Dash said. He was pointing the rifle at me, although (I hoped) not at my head.

"No! I won't let you shoot him!"

"We don't have a choice! He's gone full Chaney on us! Don't worry, I'll aim for an arm or a leg or somewhere non-vital."

"What if you miss?"

"We've got two dozen bullets. One of them ought to stop him."

The part of me that was still me seemed to be very far away, watching all this without being able to do anything about it. The rest of me was all KILL KILL KILL.

"You might hit him in the head and kill him!"

"Look, if we stand around talking about this much longer, we'll all be dead! Get back!"

I just wanted to put an end to the noise. I moved forward clumsily, almost falling over; why was I upright instead of on all fours? I raised my head to call for help-

And suddenly there was a booming crack and then a searing pain in my upper arm. I was knocked back by the force of the bullet, lying face-up in the dirt and whining in pain.

The KILL KILL voices in my head began to fade away, and I found my own voice. I screamed just about every curse word I knew, still lying on the ground with my right hand clutching my left arm. Something wet was trickling down. I was bleeding.

"Get the first-aid kit," Dash ordered, his voice trembling only a little.

Simon was not nearly so calm. "You shot him! You actually shot him!"

"I'm not going through all this again! Just go get the first-aid kit before he bleeds to death!"

"I'm okay," I said.

Dash came over and sat down on the ground beside me. "Sorry about that, buddy. I tried to aim for something that wouldn't kill you."

"Sixteen months in Iraq, and I came home without a scratch. And my **best friend** shoots me on what's supposed to be an easy job! The wolves have probably scattered by now."

"Either that or they'll come check it out, and attack us."

Just as he was saying that, I saw a blur of motion in the trees, and suddenly a large furry form bounded up to us. I recognized him immediately.

"Hector, is that you? I thought you lived in California!"

"Wait a minute, this is-?" Dash looked at me, and then at Hector, who in the split-second we had looked away had changed. He hadn't brought his shorts with him.

"Simon!" I called out. "Bring the blanket from the truck!"

"What?"

"The blanket in the back of the truck!"

"Why, are you cold?"

"You'll see when you get here."

I managed to keep my eyes averted until Simon came with the first-aid kit, which he handed to Dash, and the blanket, which he gave to me. I handed it over to Hector, who wrapped it around his waist so that things wouldn't be quite so awkward.

"I heard a gunshot," he said, "so I came to check it out."

"You're a long way from Baja, _hermano._ "

"I know. We're hoping to make it all the way to Maine by the end of the month, before it gets too cold. Then we head back home. I told the others to wait down below till I came back."

I got up shakily, and went to peer over the edge of the rim. "Wow, your clan is huge! Must be hundreds of wolves down there."

"It's not just us. We get together with the Manzanilla and Soleado clans for the migration. What are you doing up here, man?"

"I live here. You know that."

"No, I mean, what are you doing **here**? Like, on top of the mountain?"

"Oh, that. We, um . . ." I pointed weakly toward the video equipment we hadn't finished setting up. "We came to take some pictures of the migration."

"You got too close, bro. Tapped into the pack mind."

"Oh, is that what that was?" I took a step and almost fell over the edge of the cliff. All the strength had gone out of my knees, and I swayed sideways.

"Marshall!" Dash rushed over and caught me before gravity won the fight. "What are you doing? Do you have any idea how much blood you've lost? Come here and let me patch you up."

"Shouldn't'a shot me, then," I mumbled.

"Silver bullets?" Hector inquired.

Dash nodded, leading me back to our campsite. He sat me down and took my jacket off, then the shirt underneath.

"Looks like it lodged in the muscle," he said. "Didn't nick the bone. I'll bind it up till we get down the mountain and can get it looked at properly."

"What, you mean like a hospital?" I stared at him, shocked. "First thing they'll do is report it to the police! How will we explain all this to them?"

"We may not have to. I'll be back." Hector shrugged the blanket off and changed, then raced off down the mountain. I heard a lot of howling and barking, but that feeling of being tuned into the pack mind was gone.

"I think it worked," I said. "I don't feel wolfy anymore. So you can dig the bullet out and close it up."

"I don't know." Simon was looking at the exit wound. "That looks too big to be just taped up. I'm thinking you might need stitches."

"And I don't sew," said Dash resolutely. "Don't worry, we'll make up a good explanation."

There was a rush of motion and suddenly there was a russet muzzle in my face. "Hi," I said. I wisely refrained from reaching out to pet the newcomer, afraid I might get my hand bitten off.

The new wolf was wearing a kind of backpack, and Skippy ran alongside him, tugging at the zipper with his teeth. A few small objects tumbled out, and then a couple of pieces of clothing dropped out. Hector changed, tugged on a pair of blue running shorts, and then picked up a red sundress that was lying on the ground. He tossed it to the side, and the russet wolf ran over, picked it up, and changed. He was actually a **she** ; I caught a glimpse of a middle-aged woman's body before she pulled the sundress over her head. She didn't bother with underwear or a bra, but from what I'd seen, she didn't need one. Her flesh was as tight as a drum.

" _Tia_ Carmen," Hector said, "this is Marshall Teller. The boy who was in the Army with me. I told you and _Tio_ Esteban about how he was bitten by a rogue."

"I wondered why he smelled like one of us. It's fading, though. Silver bullet?"

I nodded, momentarily speechless.

"Looks like it's been in long enough to neutralize the original infection. We can remove it and stitch up the entrance and exit wounds. My kit should still be in the bag, if it hasn't fallen out."

"I think this is it here." Simon picked it up and brought it over to her. "So you're like a doctor?"

"I learned the healing arts from my mother, who learned it from her mother, and so on back to the beginning. We can't go to regular physicians, you see, because the differences are just too pronounced to ignore."

"You're talking about born wolves," I said. "There's really that much of a difference?"

"We are much more long-lived than ordinary humans. Even bitten wolves have longer lives than normal. I understand your Mr. Chaney was almost a hundred years old, but looked barely half of that."

"Yeah, until we shot him with the silver bullet. Wait, does that mean that I would have lived a really long time?"

"Definitely."

"Wow. I mean, I know I live to be pretty old anyway. I met myself as an old man once, when I was a kid."

She cocked her head at me. "How is that?"

"Um . . . I don't know, really. I suppose I'll find out one day. So when are you gonna take the bullet out?"

"Oh, the bullet is out," she said matter-of-factly.

Skippy grinned at me, a shiny object clutched between his teeth.

I looked down at the wound which was no longer bleeding so freely. The edges of the hole did seem a little wider, as if someone had reached in to pull out a foreign object. "You were distracting me," I said. "So I wouldn't notice."

She smiled. "It is easier to distract you than to tell you to brace yourself. Now comes the hard part. I will try to numb the pain for you, but it will still hurt like hell." She unzipped something that looked like a makeup case and took out a very long needle and a bottle of clear liquid.

"What is that?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even. I'm sure a little nervousness crept in anyway.

"This is lidocaine, a local anesthetic. Without it, this would really hurt. I hope you are not afraid of needles."

"Not really." It was a lie. I wasn't scared to death of needles, but I didn't like them all that much. Whenever I had a shot at the doctor's office, I had to look away and think of something else.

"Do you want a countdown?"

"No, I'm okay. Go for it."

She slipped the tip of the needle under my skin, and it hurt like fire. I gritted my teeth and tried to think of something pleasant like sunny days and comic books.

Eventually she pulled the needle out and held a piece of gauze to the spot where it had gone in. "There. Give that a minute or so to work, then we will begin."

Great. Why couldn't she just get this over with? "I'm sorry I'm keeping your whole clan waiting while you take care of me."

"It's all right. We need to stop to rest, and eat."

"Eat who?" Dash asked nervously.

Carmen laughed. "Small animals-squirrels, rabbits, mice. Some of us carry packaged food with us. The only rule on that is you have to share. We don't attack humans unless they appear to pose a threat to us."

"Marshall almost attacked us just now," Simon said.

"Yeah," I told him, "because you two were driving me crazy arguing! The wolf-mind must have seen that as a threat. To peace and quiet, if nothing else."

My arm was starting to go numb. I poked at it a few times, but felt nothing.

"Ah, we're ready." Carmen got out her extra-large needle and thick, sturdy suture thread and went to work. I couldn't feel a thing, but looking at her sewing up the hole in my arm made me feel a little queasy, so I looked away.

"It was right here," I said.

The others looked at me expectantly.

"Where Mr. Chaney brought me, all those years ago. Where he probably brought the other Harvest Kings, just before he slaughtered them. I could smell the blood when my senses went nuclear."

"How many others?"

Hector sniffed the ground. "Four men. No, five. I'm smelling your blood as well," he said, looking at me.

"Well, duh!" Dash pointed to the fresh drops of blood on the ground. "I just shot him!"

"No, this is older. This was where he always brought them?"

I nodded.

"This may have been where he was bitten himself. Tradition is very important to our people. He was trying to keep the traditions, but without proper training, he didn't know how."

"He did use that word a lot. Tradition."

"This is kinda weird," said Simon. "Sitting in the spot where four guys died. Led like lambs to the slaughter."

"At least the town took care of their families afterwards," I pointed out. I could just barely feel the pulling and tugging where Carmen was sewing up my arm, and even though there wasn't any pain, I still knew what was going on. I changed the subject. "Do the clans get together often, or just once a year?"

"There are other times," Hector said. He was sitting there in just shorts, and I couldn't help thinking that he must have been freezing, wolf blood or no wolf blood. "Weddings are usually a big draw. Sometimes funerals as well. If someone is well-known to another clan, they'll come to pay their respects. If an Alpha dies, every clan is expected to send representatives, usually the other clan Alpha's children. I've been to three funerals just since I've been back."

The implications of this statement struck me. "Your dad's an Alpha?"

"I don't make a big deal of it-it doesn't mean anything to humans, and most wolves know us by smell if not sight-but he pretty much rules the entire Valley. At least, the portion on four legs."

"Wow," said Simon. "That makes you kind of like a prince, doesn't it?"

"Not really. He's more like a governor than a king. Power is by consensus rather than heredity. Although Alphas tend to run in families."

"So you could be the big boss man someday?" Dash asked.

"Yes, but probably not for a long time. My father is still relatively young. Besides which, I have four brothers-the only reason my parents let me enlist. We always have a backup plan. Mine is named Tomas."

I remembered him telling me about his brother Tom, who was close to Simon's age. "He's down there, isn't he?"

"They're all down there. Tommy and Joe and Benny, and my little sister Maria. Want to come meet them?"

"Maybe later."

"We won't be hanging around here much longer. Gotta keep moving if we're gonna make it into New England by Friday."

"But that's like a thousand miles away!"

"We can cover a lot of ground quickly when we have to. Besides, we're not limited to full moon changes. If we wanted, we could stay in wolf form all the way to the East Coast."

"Well, good luck, man."

"There we are!" Carmen tied off the thread and stepped back to look at her handiwork. "If anyone asks, tell them that you fell on a tree branch."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said. "For everything."

" _De nada._ " She went behind a tree, threw off the sundress, and returned as the russet wolf.

"Time to go," Hector said. "I'll give you a hand packing up all this stuff."

"No," Dash said, "we've got it. You go on back to your people, Skippy."

"I was only Skippy to the unit," Hector said, smiling. "My family name is Alfonso." Then he yanked off the shorts, tucked them and the sundress back into the pack, and changed.

I watched the two wolves running side by side to join the rest of their family. "What a life," I said. "I miss it already."

* * *

Which brings me to tonight, when we finally got our footage of the migration.

As soon as we finished setting up the equipment, I left Simon and Dash and went to the van, parked at the edge of the trail. I tapped on the window. "Jack? Come on, kiddo, wake up. The wolves are coming."

He rolled over and opened his eyes. "You can tell?"

"Yeah. I can still kind of feel them. Now come on, you don't want to miss this."

He struggled with the door handle, and I remembered the child lock and opened it from the outside. Then we walked back up the path together, under the light of a full moon that I no longer feared. I spread out the blanket on the spot where the Eerie Wolf had once prowled, and Jack sat down and looked up at the moon.

"It's really bright," he said.

"This is the brightest full moon of the whole year," I told him. "It's why the werewolves choose this month for their migration. Listen: can you hear that?"

There was a howl in the distance. Jack's eyes lit up. "They're coming?"

"They're coming. Are we recording?" I called to Dash and Simon, who were manning the video setup.

Simon looked over his shoulder and gave me a thumbs-up.

"Great." I sat on the blanket and closed my eyes, trying to tap into the pack mind, even though I knew it was hopeless. I could sense them on the edge of my consciousness, but that was it. I missed that exhilarating feeling of hearing, smelling, and feeling everything at once, and I often wished that I could have had more time with Hector to learn all the ins and outs of properly being a werewolf. But what was done was done, and I couldn't complain.

There was no sound as they approached. The pack knew how to be stealthy.

"Here they come," Dash whispered, and we got up and carefully made our way to the edge of the cliff.

The entire forest floor below us was a mass of furry bodies, even more than the last time we had been here. The pack had grown. We saw big wolves and smaller wolves, black wolves, brownish gray wolves, and some that were almost white. All of them moved together as one body, with a grace that no pureblooded human could match.

"You know what we do now, Jack?" I asked.

He turned his face up to mine. "What?"

"We howl. To let them know we're here, and we're friends. Ready?"

He nodded.

Both of us, together, threw back our heads and howled at the harvest moon. The wolves stopped and howled back. And one of them, towards the front of the pack, broke away and headed towards us.

"What's he doing?" Jack asked in alarm.

"It's okay," I reassured him. "I know him. He's just coming up to say hello."

I had a pair of sweatpants ready for him this time. When the wolf came up the path and suddenly became a man, I tossed them to him. "Hello, Hector. Been a while."

" _Hermano_." He slipped the pants on quickly and came to join us. "How've you been?"

"Fine. Things couldn't be better. This is my son, Jack. He's six and a half."

"Hi," Jack said.

"You're not the only one who's been busy," Hector said. He put two fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle.

Suddenly, about a hundred small furry bodies bounded up the path and swarmed all over us.

"Get off me!" Dash swatted at the tiny wolf who was attacking his pants pocket.

"You brought jerky, didn't you?" I asked. "Give it to him. Her?"

"That's Carlitos," Hector said. "He's always hungry. You'd better toss it away from you or he'll bite your fingers off."

"Very funny," Dash grumbled. He unwrapped the jerky and held it as far away from his body as he could. Carlitos snapped it up in one bite.

"That's Eduardo, Martin, Chucho, and Juanita," Hector said, pointing, though it wasn't clear who was who as the cubs wouldn't stay still for a moment. "The older ones are down with the rest of the pack."

"You in charge now?" Simon asked.

Hector shook his head. "Not yet. But my dad's . . . not well. If he steps down within the year, I've got a pretty good shot at it."

"What's wrong with him?"

"If you don't mind us asking," I added. "If it's pack business, you don't have to share."

"No, it's okay. He took a bullet in the foreleg in the spring-a regular bullet, not silver-and it never healed right. Something about the way it impacted the bone, Tia Carmen said. Idiots with guns."

"I guess I was lucky the bullet that hit me didn't do much damage," I said, and Dash looked away.

We got the cooler out of the van. There were some juice boxes in there, and let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've seen a wolf cub try to drink juice out of a straw. In the end they just bit a hole in the box and slurped it up that way. The kids didn't seem to want to change. Hector said they were too excited about being along on the migration for the first time.

He sniffed the air. "No new blood," he said.

"No, we didn't have the Harvest King lottery in 2005. Some people asked about it, but most didn't seem too upset about it. I think deep down they knew, but they just didn't want to admit it."

"And Mr. Chaney? What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He left town, and we never saw or heard from him again. Just as well, I guess."

We sat there for close to two hours, eating and catching up. It was the best of all possible worlds: I got to hang out with an old friend, Jack made some new friends, and we got absolutely flawless video of the migration, some of which ended up on YouTube later. Best of all was the feeling that even though I wasn't even a semi-werewolf anymore, we were still part of the pack. And always would be.

* * *

 _Happy Halloween! I won't be updating this story in November (NaNoWriMo takes precedence), but come back in December for a three-part adventure you won't want to miss!_


	8. Mermaid, pt 1

"Tell me the story again, Daddy," my youngest said as I tucked her in.

"Again? But you've heard it a hundred times!"

"But it's my **favorite**! Please?" She looked up at me with those big blue eyes, and I couldn't resist.

"Okay. Once upon a time, there was a little mermaid. She was all alone in the big, wide ocean, because all the other mermaids were gone. And she was very lonely. She thought, if only I had a friend! She searched high and low, but she couldn't find anyone to be her special friend. Then one day, she surfaced in a place called New Jersey."

"Ooh!" Holly loved this part of the story.

"There were lots of humans there at the Jersey Shore, but the one she liked best was a boy with brown hair and a kind heart.

"When she first saw him, he was helping a younger child build a sand castle. The mermaid sat in the shallow water behind a rock and watched him. Here he was. Here was someone who could be her forever friend."

"What did she do, Daddy?" Holly asked, though she knew every part of this story by heart.

"She had to find out more about him. So she climbed out of the water, took on human form . . ."

"And then?"

"And then, she got a job."

* * *

Buzzy's Fish Hut was our favorite place to go after the beach, and the summer I was thirteen-the summer that turned out to be our last in Jersey-they took on a new waitress, a pretty blonde girl named Sylvie.

Sylvie was nice to everyone, but she loved to see us come in every Saturday afternoon. After a while, she even learned our favorite dishes by heart.

"Broiled shrimp," she said, setting the plate down in front of my dad. "Lobster roll," that one was for Mom. "Fried clam plate," for my sister Syndi. "And . . . fish sticks, double fries, and a small root beer."

She'd made a smiley face with my fries, but I wasn't feeling very happy. I'd just gotten what I considered the worst news of my life, and nothing could cheer me up.

"What's wrong?" she asked, leaning down to meet my downcast eyes.

"We're moving," I muttered, barely audible.

"Moving?" She looked around the table with wide eyes. "Oh, no! I don't want to lose my favorite customers!"

"Aren't you going back to school in the fall anyway?" Mom asked her. "Where is it that you come from again?"

She ignored the question. "When do you leave?"

"Tuesday," I told her.

"This Tuesday?"

"It was a very sudden decision," said Dad. "My company first told me about the new position in Indiana a month ago, and I thought we wouldn't be leaving till the fall or maybe even after the first of the year. But two days ago they called me up and told me I start next week. They can't hold it any longer than that."

"I'll never finish all the packing!" Mom lamented. "Not in three days!"

The mention of Indiana had caught Sylvie's attention. "Where in Indiana?" she asked. "I used to have family there. I know certain parts quite well."

"Little town called Eerie," said Dad. "I've never even heard of it, and now we're going to be living there. Can you imagine?"

Sylvie was overjoyed at this news. Eerie-specifically the lake in the center of town-was an old home of her people, considered sacred territory. She had never been there herself, but as long as the underground river that fed the lake ran out to the sea, she would find her way there.

"I hope you have a good trip," she said, "and maybe I will see you there."

She came back to our table three more times, in between serving her other customers, to inquire where exactly we would be living. Dad had the address written down on a piece of paper, but after searching his pockets and not finding it, he said he must have left it on the dresser.

"We'll send you a postcard," I said. "How's that?"

"You can send it here," she said. "I will leave my forwarding address with the management when I leave here. I look forward to hearing from you, Marzhall." She pronounced my name in a funny foreign way that made it sound exotic.

She left the table again, and Syndi said, "Looks like someone's got an international stalker. Where did she say she was from?"

"You know," said Mom, "I don't think she actually told us."

* * *

"At the end of the summer, the little mermaid said goodbye to the folks at Buzzy's. She left them the number of a post office box in Eerie where she would be picking up her mail. If anyone noticed anything strange about it, they never said anything.

"So she swam out to sea, until she found the river that connected to the underground river which fed Lake Eerie. There was a passage, but it was barely wide enough for her to fit through. She had to make herself very small to swim through it, and on the other side, she regrew to her usual size.

"Then she reached the surface of the lake, and poked her head up for a look around.

"The lake was deserted, for fall had come, and the air was getting colder. The little mermaid would have to stay in the lake, far under the water, feeding off the fish that lived in the lake and waiting for summer to come again.

"She waited while the leaves turned brown and gold, and fell off the trees. She waited during the bitter cold, and the snow, and the ice which covered the top of the lake so that she couldn't break through.

"But she was patient, and she knew that she had just a few more months of waiting to endure. A few months was nothing compared to the long, lonely years she had spent searching for her special friend.

"Finally, the ice melted, the air grew warmer, and then one day . . ."

Holly was on the edge of her bed. "What? What?"

"They opened the beach."

* * *

"Boys!" Mom called up the stairs. "We have to leave now if we want to get a good spot at the beach!"

It was Memorial Day, the start of summer and the first day the beach at Lake Eerie would be open. My best buddy Simon and I were looking forward to sun, sand, and swimming. And maybe seeing if we could find anything like the weird shell I'd found on our hike around the lake in the fall.

"I looked it up," I told him, while we packed our towels and swimsuits into our backpacks. "That shell belongs to a creature that lived in the oceans millions of years ago. What are the odds of us finding it purely by chance?"

"You think there could be more?"

"I think it's possible. We should bring a pail and shovel."

"I don't think I have one."

"Can you go check? It's kind of important."

"Okay, I'll be right back."

"Are you boys ready to go?" Mom had her swimsuit on under a striped coverup. She looked really nice. "Where's Simon?"

"He went to get something. He'll be right back."

"Well, let's hope he doesn't take too long. We want to get a good parking spot."

"It's only nine o'clock in the morning! Who goes to the beach this early?"

"You'd be surprised," said Dad. "Let's go out to the car and wait for him there."

"Isn't your other friend coming?" Mom asked.

"He said he'd meet us there," I told her. "Stuff to do." Stuff that I didn't want to know about, in case it wasn't strictly legal.

"I hope he makes it before the beach gets too crowded."

"How bad can it be? It's not the Jersey Shore."

"No," said Dad, "but it **is** a holiday. Lots of people have the day off. Just about everyone in town. If we don't get going soon-"

Just then Simon came running up, pail and shovel in hand. "Found it!" he exclaimed. "It was under the snow boots."

"Good. Can we go now?"

"Hey, where's Syndi?"

"She's already there," I explained. "She's working as a lifeguard this summer for the experience. Although I think it's because she's got a crush on the head lifeguard."

"Yes, all right, get in the car." Dad wasted no time getting all our stuff loaded and making sure everyone was buckled up, though we'd be traveling less than a mile. Then we were off.

Dad was right about one thing: once we were on Main Street, the traffic started piling up. The line to enter the beach parking lot stretched all the way back to the fire station.

"Wow," I said. "Guess this really is a popular place."

Eventually we made it through the gates (after paying a $5 parking fee which Dad proclaimed highway robbery) and found a spot not too far from the beach itself. At least, it wouldn't have been far if we hadn't been lugging four chairs, three beach bags, and a cooler.

The beach looked a lot smaller with all those people fighting for space. We were just barely able to find a place to lay down our blanket without stepping on someone else's. After all that hard work, I was ready for a swim. Simon and I stripped off our T-shirts and ran for the water.

"Hold it!" Mom cried out.

We stopped in our tracks and looked back. She was holding up a giant bottle of sunscreen.

"Aw, Mom! That stuff takes twenty minutes to start working! I want to swim **now**!"

"You're not going near the water without sunscreen on," she insisted.

"It's okay, Mars," said Simon. "We can look for shells instead."

"I guess so." We went back and got all gooped up, and then we spent the next twenty minutes scoping out the water line, looking for anything unusual. There was nothing, or at least nothing like the shell I'd found in the fall.

I was starting to wonder where Dash was. Once I thought I heard a siren and I got ready to run. It turned out to be the ice cream man.

"He's coming, isn't he?" Simon asked me.

"He said he was. Maybe whatever he's doing is taking longer than he thought."

"And he didn't tell you what?"

"I told him not to. If it was illegal, and we knew, then we'd be accessories after the fact. Or before the fact. Something like that."

"Good thing I never do anything illegal, then."

Startled, I looked up. Dash was standing there wearing an Eerie High Eagles T-shirt and a pair of cutoff denim shorts. "You made it!"

"Miss the first day this year of girls in bikinis? Not on your life! Speaking of which, where's your sister?"

"Over there." I pointed towards the lifeguard tower, where Syndi sat and watched the water. I couldn't really tell from this distance, but she looked kinda bored.

"Wish she'd take off her coverup."

"Too bad. Hey, do you have sunscreen on?"

"Don't need it."

"Are you kidding? With your fair skin? Go see my mom, she's got plenty."

"Nope. I never burn. Ever."

"You don't usually have this much skin showing. Go put some sunscreen on. You'll thank me tomorrow."

"Nah, I'll be fine."

I shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Wanna go get snow cones?"

"Bring me back a cherry. No, root beer. No, blue raspberry. That's it, blue raspberry. And hurry before they melt!"

"You're not coming?" Simon asked.

In response, Dash settled down on the beach blanket, snow-white face raised to the sun above. "I'm good."

We went and got our snow cones. When we came back, Dash was holding a brightly-colored piece of paper in his hand.

"It's a voucher," he said. "There's some kind of ferry boat out to the island. This is for thirty percent off items in the gift shop."

"I heard about that!" Simon said excitedly. "It's the hundredth anniversary of the old ice house! There's tours and everything!" He read something off the paper. "And the first one leaves in ten minutes! Come on, let's go!"

"Uh uh. I'm staying right here, short stack. Admiring the view."

"C'mon, it'll be fun," I coaxed him.

"Sorry, I don't do boats."

"It's a short ride! You'll barely notice."

"Oh, I'll notice. Me and boats, we don't exactly get along too well."

"You're not scared, are you?" I couldn't resist teasing him just a bit.

"Course not! I just don't do well on boats."

"Well, we can't swim across," said Simon. He pointed way across the lake. "Right by the island is the deepest part of the lake. See where the water's really dark there?"

We both nodded.

"Anyone who goes swimming over there . . . never comes back. They get sucked right down to the bottom of the lake. And you know the scariest part?"

We shook our heads.

He leaned in close and whispered, "Nobody knows exactly how deep the lake is there."

"They must do surveys and stuff," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but every time they try in that part of the lake, they get a different result. They think the bottom shifts, from eighty to a hundred feet, depending on what time of year it is. I think. Something like that. So just don't fall in on that side of the lake, okay?"

"Doesn't matter," said Dash, "cause I'm not going on the boat. No way, no how. You are never, ever, getting me on that boat! Ever!"

* * *

"I hate you," Dash said, ten minutes later.

We just barely made it to the ferry landing before the boat cast off. Most of that ten minutes had been spent begging Mom and Dad to let us go. Finally, with just seconds to spare, Dad agreed to chaperone us (I played up the educational aspect of it to pique his interest), and we ran as if our lives depended on it.

"It's not so bad," I told him. "It's a calm day, and we're going about five miles an hour. It's like we're hardly moving at all."

"Oh, we're moving," he said, his eyes closed tightly. "I can feel us moving. Let me off, **now**."

"In the middle of the lake?"

"We're almost there," said Simon. "Just relax and try not to think about the plesiosaurs."

"Right, right- **what**?" Dash stared at him in utter terror.

"That's why they never find anyone who swims in the deep end. The plesiosaur eats them!"

"Now, Simon," my dad said calmly. "Everyone knows that plesiosaurs died out with the rest of the dinosaurs millions of years ago. There's no plesiosaur living in the lake."

"There's **something** ," I said. "The old Minnehaqua legends about the lake mention a Beast of the Waters, to whom they would make regular sacrifices."

"Human sacrifices?" Dash had gone even paler than usual.

"No," I said quickly. "Deer, mostly. Sometimes a percentage of the harvest. No humans. Anyway, they thought the Beast protected them."

"See?" said Dad. "Even if this Beast were real, you have nothing to worry about. It's on our side."

"Great." Dash closed his eyes, looking like he was trying not to be sick.

"We're almost there," I told him. "Just hang on another couple of minutes."

Just before we docked at the island, a man in an old-fashioned suit and a straw hat stepped up to the front of the boat. "Good morning," he said. "My name is Michael Horne, and I'm vice-president of the Eerie Historical Society. I welcome you to the maiden voyage of the _Island Queen_ , and invite you to step back in time with me to the days when Eerie was known for the purest, clearest ice in the tri-county area. The ice house and everything connected with it have been painstakingly recreated to show you what life was like a hundred years ago. We'll be putting in shortly. Please form a single line, and be careful disembarking. Wouldn't want to fall in and get eaten by the plesiosaur!"

People laughed at that. Except Dash wasn't laughing. He was sitting there with his eyes closed tightly, taking shallow breaths in and out.

"Poor guy," said Simon. "He looks awful."

"I never would have asked him to come if I knew he'd be . . . like this," I said. "Next time, we'll let him stay behind."

"There won't be a next time," Dash said between clenched teeth. "After this I'm staying firmly on dry land. No boats for me."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Horne announced, "we're pulling up to the dock now. Please keep a single line, and watch your step."

People were starting to get up even before the boat stopped moving, which made it rock back and forth a bit. I didn't mind, but Dash moaned and curled up in his seat, refusing to budge.

"Come on," I said. "We're getting off now."

"Gimme a minute. I don't feel so good."

Dad and Simon had already gone on ahead and were waiting for us on the dock. We were the last ones still in our seats.

"Need a hand?" One of the guys manning the boat had come back to help us. Dash let himself be lifted up out of his seat and walked down the aisle, like a toddler. I followed behind them.

Everything was okay until we got onto the dock. Dash stumbled coming down the last step. His arms went out to balance himself, and one of them struck me and knocked me off the dock and into the deepest part of the lake.

The water pulled me down quickly, and I thought, _So this is it. This is how I die. Will it hurt, or will it just be like going to sleep?_

Then I blacked out. But before I did, I swear I saw a black shape, as big as an elephant, moving through the dark water towards me. Then I felt something underneath me.

Then everything went black.

* * *

"The little mermaid knew she had to act fast if she wanted to save the boy with the brown hair. If he went any deeper, he would be sucked down into the mouth of the underground river and lost forever. She swam underneath him, made herself large enough to support him, and gently lifted him up to the surface. Once his head was above water and he could breathe again, she slipped back down before anyone saw her."

* * *

Air! Wonderful, wonderful air, filling my lungs and letting me breathe again. I coughed up water and opened my eyes.

Somehow I had made it up to the surface on my own . . . or had I?

"-can't believe you pushed him in!" Simon was yelling.

"I did not push him!" Dash insisted. "It was an accident!"

"Sure it was! You killed him, you murderer!"

"Now, boys-" Dad began.

I took a deep breath and shouted, "Guys, I'm right here!" Somehow it didn't come out as loud as I'd hoped, but they heard me anyway. I swam over to the dock, and someone lifted me up and laid me out on the rough wooden planks.

A few minutes later I was sitting on a folding chair in front of the gift shop, wrapped in a blanket with the Historical Society's logo and trying to get warm. It was eighty degrees out, but that water had been really cold.

"Marshall, thank God you're all right!" Dad said. "I was so worried when I heard the splash and then didn't see you come up! What happened?"

"We know what happened!" Simon said. He turned to glare at Dash. " **You** pushed him in!"

"I did not! I already told you it was an accident! I fell, and . . . he happened to be in the way."

"I thought you were gonna get sucked down!"

"I almost did," I said. "But . . . something saved me. I think it was the Beast of the Waters."

All three of them looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

"I'm serious! I saw something swim up to meet me. It was big-like bigger than the boat, I think. It pushed me up to the surface so I could breathe."

"Now, Marshall," said Dad, "I don't doubt that you **thought** you saw something. You had a near-death experience, and you were hallucinating."

"It wasn't a hallucination! I felt it underneath me! Whatever it was, it saved my life." I looked out at the water, but there wasn't even a ripple. Whatever it was . . . it was gone now.

As soon as I felt better, we took the tour of the ice house and the grounds. Simon and Dash weren't speaking to each other, but every so often I'd catch them giving each other little sideways glares. If Dad noticed, he didn't say anything.

Mr. Horne was very apologetic, promising to set up a fence or a guard rail or something around the dock, so this wouldn't happen again. I think he was worried we'd sue someone. He even gave me some free stuff from the gift shop-a T-shirt and some souvenir pencils and pens. I wanted to ask for a little notebook to go with them, but I was afraid that might be pushing it.

The tour was pretty interesting, actually. There was even an interactive section where visitors could cut their own ice blocks. Too bad we didn't get to keep them; it was hotter than ever when we got back on the boat, and the sun was beating down pretty strongly. I noticed red patches forming on Dash's shoulders and the back of his neck.

"I think you really need sunscreen," I told him, but he just blocked me out. He blocked everything out, curling up in his seat and trying not to be sick all over the place.

Once we got back to the beach, we stuck close to the blanket. I did go swimming a couple of times, despite my close call at the dock-trying to get back on the horse after falling off, so to speak. The water at the beach was a lot warmer and I only went in up to my chest, swimming back and forth close to the shore.

I was forming a plan as I swam. I had to get back over to the island and find out just what it was that had saved me. It couldn't have been a plesiosaur-the lake wasn't big enough for one to swim comfortably. Dinosaurs were huge, after all. But I knew it was **something**.

Around four o'clock we started packing up our stuff.

"You want a ride home?" I asked Dash, who hadn't moved from the blanket in hours.

"What? No. No, I'm okay." When he stood up, I saw that the tops of his legs were bright red, as were his arms and his face. He was going to feel that later on. I'd gotten a bad sunburn once at the beach and hadn't been able to move the next day.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I don't live far."

I wasn't really sure where Dash was living right now. He'd moved out of the mill around Christmas time, and hadn't told anyone where he'd moved to. He liked his privacy.

"Okay, man," I said. "See you around."

* * *

The next day, Simon and I were downtown when we heard something in the alley behind the World of Stuff. It sounded like a moan, but I couldn't be sure.

"Let's go check it out," I said, thinking there might be someone in trouble.

There was, but not what I was expecting. Dash was lying on the pavement, curled up in a patch of shade and looking miserable. He was bright red from head to toe.

"Ouch!" Simon winced just looking at him. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm just fine, half-pint," Dash drawled. "No, I'm not okay! It freaking hurts!"

"Let me help you." I bent down to help him up, but Dash recoiled.

"Don't touch me!"

"C'mon, man, you can't lie in the street all day. Come inside and I'll call my mom to pick us up."

"Don't bother. Just leave me here, I'll be fine."

"Not in a couple of hours, when the sun shifts around to this side. You need to move inside and put something on that."

"Fine." Slowly, he got to his feet, and shuffled along behind us inside the store.

One short ride later, we were in my room, with the TV on to the station showing cartoons, although none of us were watching it. I had a series of maps spread out on the floor, and Simon and I were examining them while Dash lay in my bed and moaned.

"This is crazy!" I looked from one map to the other, and then folded them up and stuck them back inside the folder. "One says the lake is ninety-six feet deep. Another one says it's a hundred and twelve. The town register lists the lake's maximum depth as ninety-nine feet. Why can't these people get their stories straight?"

"I told you," Simon said. "It's the . . . tides." He suddenly realized just how stupid that sounded. "Well, that's what my dad told me. He said the lake is fed by an underground river that runs out to sea, and when the tides come, it sucks the mud from the bottom, or something."

"He doesn't know either, does he?"

"At this point, I'm starting to wonder if anyone does."

"You know what we should do?" I stood up and went to my closet. "We should see for ourselves. Stand on the boat dock and measure just how deep the lake is where I fell in. Maybe we'll take several readings and average them."

"There's just one problem with that," Simon told me.

Dash just moaned again. I ignored him. "What's that?"

"The boat to the island only runs on weekends until the end of June, when school gets out. So we won't be able to go until Saturday."

"Aw, rats!" I really wanted to make another trip out there as soon as possible. I wanted to find out what the creature was who had saved my life, and . . . find a way to thank it somehow.

"Don't worry," Simon said. "It's only four more days. We'll make it."

"Uh uh," Dash said. We turned to him. "You're not getting me on that boat unless you drug me and tie me up. The Minnie Mouse tribe-"

"Minnehaqua," I corrected him.

"Whatever. They knew what they were doing, staying away from that island. They gave that thing its space. I say we should do the same."

"That's too bad," I said. "That you don't want to come, I mean. Imagine what would happen if we discovered a new species, living in Lake Eerie. There'd be lots of TV and newspaper coverage. We'd be famous."

"Yeah, yeah." He burrowed under the blanket like a mole.

"There'd probably be a lot of money in it too," Simon added. "And you'd miss out. Sorry."

Dash's head shot up. It looked like cotton candy on a crimson stick. "Money, you say?"

"That's right," I said. "Public appearances and endorsement deals and stuff like that. And maybe, just maybe, someone might see your picture in the paper or on TV and know who you are."

That dampened his enthusiasm somewhat. "I told you I don't wanna know," he muttered, and started to slip back down under the blanket.

I went over and yanked it off him. "I know what you said before. You're afraid that whatever happened to you was so bad that your brain just blanked everything out to protect you. But what I think is that there's someone out there missing you-a parent, a brother or sister, an aunt or uncle, somebody. You owe it to them to at least **try**."

"Look, I can't! Even if I wanted to! I don't like boats-or they don't like me."

"Got that covered," I said, and handed him a small rectangular package.

He looked at it suspiciously. "Dramamine?"

"Yeah. To help, you know?"

"Help." He tried to sit up a little, yelped at the pain the sudden movement had brought on, and I rushed to help him. "Yeah, you're so big on helping, aren't you? Me, I help myself first. That way I don't get left out. Right now I'd like to help myself to some more of that strawberry ice cream, if you don't mind. Or even if you do mind. I don't care, I just want some ice cream."

I decided to cut him a little slack since the guy was suffering and not thinking clearly. "Okay," I said. "When I come back, we'll work on a plan."

"You do the planning," he said. "I'll do the eating."

* * *

Saturday morning we met at the beach for the first ferry to the island. As usual, Dash was late, but he had a really good excuse this time.

"I stopped at Eerie Boat and Tackle to get this thing," he said, handing me a paper bag which seemed suspiciously heavy. "I figured it would be more accurate than tying a rock to a length of rope and marking off measurements on it. I told the clerk I wanted to catch the really deep fish. This is what he gave me."

I took it out of the bag. "How's it work?"

"How should I know? The directions are on there. You read 'em."

Simon was looking at him with suspicion. "What do you want from us?"

"Who says I want anything?"

"You never do anything unless you want something. So what is it?"

"I can't believe you don't think I can do something nice just for the sake of being nice!"

"You don't do nice," I said. "Thanks for the . . . doohickey. Now what do you want us to do for you?"

"Just sixty percent of the profits."

"Sixty percent!"

"Hey, it's because of me that you ended up in the water in the first place!"

"Ah hah! So you admit you pushed him!" said Simon.

"For the last time, I did not push him! It was an accident! But if I hadn't been there, you wouldn't have fallen in the water and that whatever-it-is wouldn't have saved you! Therefore, you owe me."

"Yeah, but not sixty percent!"

"Marshall!"

"Not now, Simon. What makes you think we owe you anything? I let you come along because I felt sorry for you sitting on the beach all alone! I didn't want to leave you behind, cause that's what friends do!"

"Mars!"

"We ain't friends, Teller! Never were!"

"Hey, guys!" Simon stood between us. "The boat's about to leave without us!"

"Oh, no, not again!" We made a run for it and just managed to get aboard before the ferry cast off.

"Are you good?" I asked Dash, as soon as we'd taken our seats, this time in the middle of the boat.

"Took it an hour before I left. I'm covered."

"What about-?" I pointed to his left shoulder, where about an inch of peeling sunburn was peeking out of his T-shirt sleeve.

"Got that covered, too." He pulled a small bottle of 100 SPF sunblock out of his sock. "Once was bad enough, believe me."

The ride was a lot better this time, now that we were able to sit back and enjoy our surroundings. Once I saw a ripple on the water and bent forward to get a better look, almost falling into the water again. It was Simon who grabbed me before I went over the side. We watched as a fish poked its head up to the surface, no doubt expecting to get thrown a few crumbs. I had nothing. Sorry, fishie.

"Maybe we should get you a life jacket," Dash quipped, "since you seem so determined to go swimming in the deep end."

"Or a diving bell," I said. "Scuba gear would be no good, because we'd just get sucked under."

"We?" Dash raised his eyebrows at me.

"The current's too strong over here. But if we had some kind of vehicle, we could go exploring."

"And what would you do if you found your mysterious Beast of the Waters? Marry it?"

I gave him a sour look. "You have no sense of adventure, do you?"

"Sure I do. It's just overruled by my sense of self-preservation. That's why I don't do anything dangerous."

"No, you just make **us** do the dangerous stuff. Why don't you earn your sixty percent-which, by the way, I still haven't agreed to-and actually help?"

"All right, fine. I'm the brains of the operation, I shouldn't have to . . ." He grumbled for a while, but he helped us set up the gadget so we could take our readings.

The first one was right at the end of the dock. When we hauled it up, the number read 84. Only eighty-four feet? That didn't sound right.

"Try over on the side here," I suggested, "where I fell in."

"You mean where you were **pushed** ," Simon insisted.

"Would you let it go already?" Dash glared at him. "Gimme that thing."

The reading he took on that side was 116. "Wow," I said. "That's quite a difference. Try the front again."

"Marshall . . ." Simon was staring out over the water.

"Not now, Simon. Try casting out further from the dock. It might be deeper further out-"

"Marshall!"

"What?" I turned and saw him looking towards the water. "Is it the creature? I knew we should have brought some fish for it."

"It's not the creature," he said, and I looked.

A dark shape was rising from the water, but it wasn't my rescuer. It was a submarine.

A hatch opened, and a man in an old-fashioned uniform poked his head out.

"Would you boys," he called to us, "kindly stop throwing things at me?"


	9. Mermaid, pt 2

We had come to the island in the middle of Lake Eerie to find the creature who had saved my life. What we found . . . was an explorer.

He said his name was Doctor Omen, and he knew all about our creature.

"It's not a plesiosaur," he said. "They all died out millions of years ago. What it is, is a kelpie. You know what they are?"

"Water horse," I said. "But aren't they supposed to be legendary?"

"Just because something is legend doesn't mean it isn't real, or was once. This particular kelpie is the last in the known world. Believe me, I've been tracking her for fifty-seven years, and I know!"

"Ha!" I said. "Knew it was a she!"

We were sitting on the patio outside the gift shop, sipping iced tea from glass bottles and sharing some cupcakes with pink frosting. No one else was around. I wondered where Dash had gone, then decided I didn't care. His loss.

"You say she saved you from drowning?" Dr. Omen asked me.

"Yeah. It was like I was getting sucked down to the bottom, but suddenly she was under me and pushing me back up to the surface."

"I thought kelpies lived in Scotland," said Simon. "How did she get all the way to Eerie? We're not even near an ocean!"

"That's what you think," the doctor told him. "Deep under the lake, near the spot where your friend fell in, is the entrance to an underwater tunnel which leads directly out to a river that eventually connects to the ocean. That's why the water in this part of the lake is so deep. You're lucky you weren't sucked into the tunnel and drowned," he said to me.

"How come they've never found this tunnel before?" I asked. "They've done geological surveys and stuff. How could they miss it?"

"Because," Dr. Omen said, "it's under thirty feet of bedrock, and the opening is less than a meter wide."

"Then how could the kelpie fit through it?" asked Simon.

"Kelpies are shape-shifters. My thinking is, she just altered her size to be able to fit through the tunnel, and expanded again when she was in open water. She's as big as she needs to be at any given moment. Shrinks down to hunt small fish, grows to frighten off predators."

"Is there something in this lake bigger than her?" I asked.

"Yes," Dr. Omen said, beaming. "Me. You'll notice my craft, the _Illusionary_ , is painted to look like a whale; specifically, a beluga whale. It's a little out of their territory, but that actually lures the kelpie in. They're very curious creatures, you see. Or were. As I said, this is the last one in the world."

"What are you planning to do with her," I asked, "once you catch her?"

He nodded, grinning broadly. "Such a magnificent creature should be put on display for all the world to see. I plan to sell her to Sea World for a fortune."

"I get sixty percent of that action," said a voice from behind us. I jumped and looked over my shoulder. It was Dash, who had missed the science but taken an interest once money was mentioned. Typical.

"Friend of yours?" Dr. Omen asked.

"Sort of," I explained. We introduced him to Dash, and vice-versa.

Dr. Omen invited us aboard his submarine. "I'm afraid it's close quarters in here, boys, for the four of us. It's really designed more as a one-man operation, but you're welcome to come along as long as you don't . . . touch . . . anything!" That last part was mostly directed at Dash, who was reaching for something that looked like it should not be messed with. He looked at us, tried to look innocent, and shuffled away, whistling "Yellow Submarine."

Simon and I sat down on the storage locker at the back of the craft. There were no seat belts, but we could brace ourselves against the walls if things got rough.

"Okay, boys!" Dr. Omen called back to us. "Ready to get underway?"

Dash stopped pacing and looked at him. "Underway? You mean . . . under water?"

"Of course! You want to find the kelpie, don't you?"

"Let me out! I'll, um, wait for you topside." His face was paler than I had ever seen it, even when he was being sick on the island ferry.

"Oh, don't be silly! It's perfectly safe."

"You don't understand. I . . . I can't swim."

"Oh, that's all right. Neither can I!"

Simon and I looked at each other. This wasn't good. Briefly I wondered if this hadn't been a bad idea from the start. Then I remembered that I owed that kelpie my life. The chance to get to see this magnificent creature, to thank her in person, was worth the risk to my mind.

Dr. Omen pulled some levers and flipped some switches, and the _Illusionary_ hummed to life. Dials spun and panels lit up. It was really amazing.

"Hold tight," Dr. Omen said to us. "Crash, you might want to sit down and brace yourself."

"It's **Dash** ," he grumbled, but he squeezed in beside us. We sat back against the wall (bulkhead; that was what they called it on a ship) and held on wherever we could.

When we started moving, I didn't even feel it. "When do we get underway?" I asked.

"Oh, we're already underway," Dr. Omen told me. "We left the dock a few minutes ago, and we're proceeding northwest, towards the tunnel entrance. She likes to hang out there when I'm not around."

"We're underwater?" Dash looked panic-stricken. "How deep?"

"Right now, we're at a depth of about eight meters-that's twenty-five feet. We will be descending to thirty meters-one hundred feet-and then holding position until the kelpie arrives. If you want, you can look through the periscope and see the beach and the island."

"Is it safe to get up now?" Simon asked.

"It's perfectly safe. I'll warn you if we're about to maneuver, but for now, you're fine. Go ahead, boys, have a look around."

Simon and I jumped up and took turns adjusting the periscope. "Hey, wow, this is awesome! Come have a look at this," I said to Dash.

"Nope. Not moving." He clamped his hands on the edge of the storage locker and shut his eyes.

"Okay, fine," said Simon. "Ooh, look, Syndi's taking off her coverup."

"Gimme that thing." Like a flash, Dash got up and shoved us out of the way to get a look through the periscope. "Oh, man! The magnification on this is unbelievable! I can see right down her-"

"Okay, that's enough of that." I didn't want Dash ogling my sister any longer. It was . . . awkward. "Let's look at the island next."

I didn't feel it when we came to a stop, either. "Okay, boys. We're at thirty meters. We're not on the bottom, but we're pretty close. Keep an eye on the forward viewscreen, and you might just see Madame Kelpie."

"What viewscreen?" Simon asked.

Dr. Omen slapped his forehead. "I forgot to turn on the viewscreen! Hang on a moment." He fiddled with a few buttons, and then a panel at the front lit up. It wasn't much bigger than our TV screen at home, and all it showed was murky water.

"Great view," Dash said.

"Shut up," I told him. I was looking forward to seeing the kelpie, since I hadn't gotten a good look at her before. Having her in front of me instead of underneath would be a definite plus.

"I'm cutting the lights," said Dr. Omen, which was funny because I hadn't noticed any lights before, "and going to silent running until she shows up. Try not to make any noise or wave anything shiny around. We don't want to attract her attention until we're ready."

None of us was wearing anything shiny, so that was one good thing. We sat back down and tried to be quiet, though the tension was killing us.

"Dr. Omen," I whispered, "how exactly do you plan to capture the kelpie, once we spot her?"

"Watch and learn, my boy. Watch and learn."

"Watching and learning is boring," Dash muttered. "I wanna do something!"

"We will. Oh, yes, we most certainly will. But not yet. You just wait till I give you the signal."

"And then what?" Simon asked.

"And then-we spring the trap!"

"You're not gonna hurt her, are you?" I asked nervously.

"No, I want her alive. All in the interest of scientific research, of course. Now hush."

We hushed.

I didn't dare look at my watch-it was too dark to see the numbers, and flicking on the backlight might have attracted attention-but I guessed it was about ten minutes before Dr. Omen said, "Here she comes!"

"How can you tell?" asked Simon.

"Listen."

Very faintly, as if from miles away, we heard a sort of low moaning noise, like whale song. (I'd never seen an actual whale, but I'd watched that _Star Trek_ movie a bunch of times.) On the viewscreen, a dark shape was rapidly approaching us.

"Let her get a little closer . . ." Dr. Omen had his finger poised over one particular button on the panel in front of him. "Closer . . ."

I leaned forward, eager to get a good look at my savior. She didn't look as big as she had when I had been in the water, but if she could change her size, that made sense. "Can you enhance the image without scaring her off?" I asked.

"Certainly!" He pressed a few different buttons, and the picture on the screen cleared. And I got my first look at a kelpie.

She was probably about the size of an elephant. In the back, her body was rounded, with a short, stubby tail like a turtle's. Her flippers were long and graceful. But what really struck me was the horse-like head on a long neck, and the eyes. Her eyes looked almost human.

"Hi, Kelpie," I said, though I knew she couldn't hear me. "Thank you for saving me. I'll make sure you're treated well, wherever you're going."

The kelpie drifted a little further, and that was when Dr. Omen shouted, "Now!" and hammered his fist down on the button.

A line shot out of the front of the boat, and a net unfolded in the dark water. But the kelpie was too fast; she saw it coming and reversed course, shrinking down and slipping into the tiny crack on the bottom that was the entrance to the tunnel.

"Blast it! Lost her again!" He pressed another button, and the net retracted. "Oh, well, we'll have to try again. Are you boys free tomorrow?"

I didn't answer at first, still enthralled by those eyes. It was like she had been staring directly at me, into my very soul. I'd never had a girl look at me that way before.

I became aware of a clicking sound somewhere in my vicinity. It was Dash, snapping his fingers in my face. "Yoo hoo! Earth to Mars! Wake up!"

"What?" I snapped at him.

"We're coming back tomorrow, aren't we?"

"I know I don't have any plans," Simon said. "C'mon, Marshall, we can't do it without you."

I didn't even have to think about it. "Of course we're coming back," I said. "If you guys help me clean out the garage."

"Oh, man!" Dash did not believe in chores. "Count me out, then!"

"You don't help," I said, "you don't get your sixty percent."

He glared at me. "You wouldn't dare."

"If we're going to be partners in this, then we're going to be partners in everything. I'll let you do the easy jobs."

"Oh, all right. But this had better be good. I'm not spending all day breaking my back for another lost chance."

"Don't worry," Dr. Omen said. "Plan B will not fail!"

Plan B? It sounded more like the guy was on Plan Z. I mean, if he'd been hunting the kelpie for fifty-seven years without success, he'd had to have tried everything, right?

We thanked him anyway when he let us off at the boat dock.

When the boat docked back at the beach, I could tell that Dash's Dramamine was starting to wear off. He was starting to look positively green, as the afternoon's activities caught up with him. "You may have to start cleaning the garage without me," he said. "I think I need a bit of a lie-down."

"It's okay," I said. "Can you get home okay? I can call my mom."

"No, I'm fine. I'll be over later, I promise. Tell me something: are you happy, now that you've seen her?"

I thought about it. "Yeah, I'm pretty well satisfied."

At the time, I thought that I probably wouldn't get to see her up close like that again.

Boy, was I wrong.

* * *

Simon and I got back to my house around three o'clock.

"See?" I said to my mom. "I said I'd be home in time to clean out the garage."

"Yes, well, you'd better get moving. I want all that old junk piled at the curb by the time your father gets home."

"Why? Where's he gone?"

"He got called into work for some emergency meeting. He said he'd be back by dinner time, so hop to it. Call me when you need help moving the heavy stuff."

"That's okay," I said. "We've got it covered." I figured we'd do the easy jobs first, and leave the heavy lifting for when Dash finally showed up. **If** he showed up.

You might think, since we'd only lived in the house a year, that we hadn't had time to pile up a lot of stuff in the garage. And you would be right. Most of the junk was stuff the previous owners had left behind. Some of it was in halfway decent condition, but most of it was old, broken, or used up, and only fit for the trash pile.

It was a couple of hours later when Dash finally showed up. By then we were almost done, except for the heavy stuff and a couple of small boxes we had saved for him to work on. He looked much better now.

"What is all this stuff?" he asked, looking into one of the boxes. "Junk. Trash. Worthless."

"Yeah," I said, "that's why we're doing this. If you find anything good in there, you can have it. Everything else goes to the curb."

"There's nothing good in here," he said, but he looked anyway. Meanwhile, Simon and I dragged some of the smaller pieces of ugly furniture to the end of the driveway. We had quite a pile there now. By five-thirty, the only thing left was the purple chair.

We stared at it.

"That is one seriously hideous chair," Dash said.

"Yeah," said Simon. "The people who lived here before . . . all their stuff was like this. Weird colors, weird shapes . . . you should have seen the stuff they took with them."

"Well, I can see why they left this thing behind." He tried to lift it, but it weighed a ton. "Hnnnnn! What's this thing made of, rocks?"

"I think we can do it together," I said. "Simon, you get on that side. Dash, you go over there. I'll lift from the back. Ready? One . . . two . . ."

I never got the chance to say "three." From out of nowhere, this girl came running up to me and kissed me.

Right on the lips.

It wasn't a long kiss, but it was . . . unexpected. I mean, it's not like random girls came up to me on the street and kissed me all the time. In fact, not counting my mother, my sister, and my cousin Clarice, I'd only kissed a girl once, and that had been in a cemetery. (It's kind of a long story.)

When we broke apart, I stepped back and looked at her. I wasn't sure if I'd ever seen her before. She looked like a lot of girls a few years older than me. She had long blonde hair, pulled back in a ponytail and tied up with a piece of twine. I had to wonder why she didn't have an elastic or a scrunchie or something more suitable. She was wearing an Eerie High T-shirt that was a little big for her.

"Hey!" Dash said. "That's my shirt!"

Simon looked at him. "You mean the one you 'borrowed' from someone else?"

"Yeah! I mean, no! I mean . . . shut up, squirt."

I paid no attention to them. Under the shirt she was wearing a teeny-tiny pair of shorts, and I wondered who she'd "borrowed" those from. Her feet were completely bare. It was her hands that gave her away, though, or to be more precise, her nails. Only one person I'd ever known had her nails painted in that delicate green pattern that looked like fish scales.

"Sylvie?"

"Hello, Marzhall."

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"I told you I would see you again."

Then I looked into her eyes, and I realized that this wasn't the first time I had seen her here. "You're the kelpie."

"I am." She smiled, showing her delicate white teeth.

"How can she be the kelpie?" Dash asked. "We saw the kelpie! It was . . . bigger than her."

"Kelpies are shape-shifters!" Simon reminded him. "They can take human form!"

She looked at them, her dark eyes flitting from one to the other in confusion.

"Oh, sorry," I said. "These are my friends. This is Simon, and this is Dash."

"Hello, Szimon. Hello, Daszh."

"Hi, Sylvie."

"Okay, now that we're all acquainted," said Dash, "I think some explanations are in order."

"I'm afraid they'll have to wait," I said, and pointed up the road. My father's car was approaching. "I'll see you guys after dinner. Meet at the clubhouse, at seven?"

"Club house?" Sylvie inclined her head and stared at me.

"Um . . . yeah, you don't know where it is. You can wait in my room while we have dinner. Then I'll take you there after. Just stay out of sight and don't talk to anybody till I say it's okay."

"She can stay at my place," Dash offered, but I didn't like the look in his eyes. Neither, it seemed, did Sylvie, who moved closer to me and slipped one arm around my waist.

"Oh, fine, then. See you at seven." He stalked off, and then turned back. "And I want my shirt back!"

"It's not your shirt!"

"I should go, too," Simon said. "It's my night for dish duty. See you later, Mars. Bye, Sylvie!" He waved at her and then ran next door to his house.

Sylvie and I went inside before my dad could see her and ask about her. I wasn't sure what to tell him-or Mom, either. My plan was to sneak Sylvie in through the kitchen while everyone else was in the dining room, up the stairs, and into my room, where she could wait for me until dinner was over and the dishes cleared away. Then I would sneak her out again the same way while the rest of the family watched TV, and we could proceed to the clubhouse.

But you know what they say about the best-laid plans . . .

Everything went fine until we bumped into my mom coming from the living room into the kitchen. "Oh, great, Marshall, you're just in time. Can you set the-oh, who's this?"

"Mom, you remember Sylvie," I said.

"Hello," Sylvie said, ducking her head.

Mom widened her eyes and took a step back. "Oh, my goodness! It's been a while, hasn't it? Well, welcome to Eerie, Sylvie."

"I liked New Jerszey better."

"Are you staying here in town?"

"Yes, at my family's home in the-near the lake."

"Oh, that's nice." She didn't seem to notice the slip. "Marshall, you'll have to set an extra place at the table. I hope you like pot roast, Sylvie."

"Thank you, Mrs. Teller."

Dad came in at that moment. "Boy, something smells good-oh, who's this?"

"Dad, you remember Sylvie. From Buzzy's?"

He squinted at her behind his glasses. "The waitress? What are you doing here?"

"Visiting," she said. "For the summer."

"Oh, how nice. Well, enjoy your visit. I'll be down in a minute."

Sylvie poured the milk while I lined up plates and silverware and folded the napkins into perfect triangles. Well, nearly perfect. What the heck, I figured, no one would care.

It was the most awkward dinner in family history. And that included the Christmas that Uncle Norman got drunk and danced on top of the table.

The best thing that could be said about the food was that it was edible. Technically. In the same way that tree bark was technically edible. Luckily I could get away with not eating much of it, because I was talking a lot.

Sylvie didn't talk as much as I would have liked her to. She gave the simplest answers to every question, without going into detail. And she didn't look at anyone much. She kept her eyes on her plate most of the time, probably trying to figure out what the heck she was eating.

"So where is it you're from, Sylvie?" Dad asked her.

Sylvie looked over at me helplessly, and I said, "New Zealand." It was the most exotic place I could think of.

"Really?" Mom seemed interested. "Whereabouts in New Zealand?"

"In the water," she said.

"Sylvie was on the swim team in her old school," I said. "She won medals and everything."

"Oh, isn't that exciting?" Mom said. "And what were you planning to do in Eerie?"

Sylvie looked up at her, smiled, and said, "Marshall and I are going to have babies."

There was a clang as my mother's fork hit the floor.

Then every eye was turned toward me. I felt my face redden, and I wished I could just crawl under the table and die.

"Uh . . . ha ha. She's kidding! You're kidding, right?" I looked over at Sylvie helplessly, but she didn't look like she was kidding. "Tell them you're kidding."

She just looked at me with those big, dark eyes and said, "Don't you want to have babies, Marshall?"

"No! I mean, yeah, but not now! Not for a long time! I mean, there's school and stuff. And we'd have to get married, and find a place of our own . . . you're serious about this, aren't you?"

She didn't say anything.

"Well, um . . . I think it's wonderful that you're planning for the future already," Mom said, "but you don't want to get too far ahead of yourselves. After all, you've only just met."

"I don't know about that," Dad said. "I knew when I met you that you were the one."

Syndi and I rolled our eyes. We'd heard this story at least a hundred times before. Sylvie, on the other hand, looked interested.

"So you choose your mates for life as well?"

"Yes," said Dad. "That's a funny way to put it, though. It's not like New Zealand is on another planet."

"Trust me," I said, "there's plenty of weirdness on **this** planet."

"Which reminds me," Mom said. "What are you boys up to tonight?"

"Nothing!" I said, a little too quickly. "I mean . . . just hanging out. Maybe watch a movie."

"Really? Not tracking UFOs or sponge migrations or whatever it is you were doing at the beach last week?"

"Nope. Nothing unusual in any way. I promised I'd be there at seven, so can I get a pass on dish duty tonight?"

Mom gave me The Look. "Nice try. Your friends won't mind if you're a few minutes late. Make sure to scrub out the pans, too."

"I can help," Sylvie said. She started clearing the plates from the table.

"Thanks," I said. "Sorry to put you through so much trouble."

"Not at all. I came here looking for you."

"For me? Why?"

"I meant what I said. I want to mate with you. I want to have your babies."

"Okay, stop," I said.

She looked sad. "I have said something wrong?"

"Yeah! I mean . . . look, I like you. I mean, you saved my life and all. But I'm not ready to be a father yet. I'm still in junior high school!"

That puzzled her, and she did that head-cock thing again. "But why does this matter? Marshall, I am the last of my kind. I must mate with a human male in order to keep my species alive. If not . . ."

"I didn't mean not ever. Just not now. Maybe in . . ." I tried to think. Did I want to go to graduate school? Could I do it with a semi-aquatic wife and a family? "Maybe ten years or so."

"But you are ready now! For my people, mating begins as soon as we are fully mature."

"Yeah, well, it's different here." I put my head down and scrubbed the vegetable pan as if my life depended on it.

"My enemy follows me. If I wait too long . . . there may not be another chance."

"You mean Dr. Omen? Wait-he said he's been tracking you for fifty-seven years. But you don't look much older than I am. Was he chasing your mom, or your grandma, or something?"

She looked at me. "I am much, much older than you, Marshall. We live a long time, but we can be killed. We **have** been killed, hunted from one end of the ocean to the other, until only I remain. Please don't let us die out."

I was just glad that the sound of the running water kept my family from hearing any of that conversation. "If you can get back to the beach, maybe you can swim out to sea again. We'll see if we can slow him down long enough for you to get a good head start. Then, just keep moving. I'll see you again."

"Where? When?"

"Ten years from now. From today. June eighth, two thousand three. As for where . . . the Jersey Shore is good enough, isn't it?"

She smiled. "By the big rock that looks like a cat."

"Yeah, I know the one you mean. Meet me there in ten years, and by then I'll be ready to have babies with you."

We finished the dishes together, dried off the pans and put them away, and then we hurried through the woods to meet the other guys at the clubhouse.

The clubhouse was an old shack hidden in the woods that no one else knew about. Dash had been living there for a while before moving again and not telling us where.. It wasn't really fit for anyone to live in, but it was great to just hang out.

There wasn't a door, just an old blanket hanging down in the doorway, so I knocked on the side of the door frame.

"Who iiiis iiiiit?" Dash called out, in mocking falsetto.

"It's us," I said. "We're coming in."

"What took you so long? It's . . . what time is it, minion?"

"I'm not a minion!" Simon protested. "Get a watch!"

"I've tried. It's actually harder than it looks to steal one right off someone's wrist-"

I pushed the blanket aside and stepped in. Sylvie stayed outside until I looked back at her and said, "You coming?"

"Do you want me to?" she asked.

"Sure I do! Come on."

I held the blanket back for her, and she quietly stepped over the threshold.

The clubhouse was one big room, about the size of my living room, with a couple of rickety pieces of mismatched furniture and a bare dirt floor. There was a couch, though, big enough for three people if we squished, and a rocking chair painted a sickening shade of pink that looked like Dash had picked it up off the curb on trash day. I should have told him he could take the purple chair home. At least it was semi-comfortable.

Simon and Dash were already sitting on either end of the couch, leaning as far away from each other as possible. Sylvie went and sat between them. That left me with the rocking chair. At least it was better than standing.

"Okay," I said. "There have been some . . . developments." As quickly as possible, I filled them in on what had happened between me and Sylvie at dinner and afterwards. It was even more embarrassing the second time around.

"So we just need to get her back to the beach," I said. "Tonight, before Dr. Omen tries to catch her again. Then tomorrow, we'll just act surprised when we can't find her again. Maybe we'll find a way to block up the tunnel so he can't come after her."

"But . . ." Sylvie's face was white, and her eyes seemed to take up half her face, they were so huge. "If you block the tunnel . . . I can't come back."

"It's probably better if you don't," I said. "We'll meet in ten years, at the Jersey Shore. I promise I'll be there. We'll get married right there on the beach, if you want. But right now, you need to lay low."

"How will we get to the beach?" Simon asked. "It's like miles away! And they lock the gates at nine o'clock."

"I can hot-wire a car," said Dash.

I said, "We really shouldn't steal a car. What if we get caught?"

"We won't get caught. And we'll bring the car right back when we're done, boy scout. I didn't say we'd **keep** the car. And if we get stopped, I have a fake ID. You just let me do all the talking."

"Sure we will," said Simon. None of us thought it was a good plan, but it was the only one we had. Sylvie's life and freedom depended on it.

Dash got up and rushed out the door. "Wait for me out by the road," he said. "I'll be right back."

He wasn't right back at all. He was gone an awfully long time. I began to wonder if he was coming back at all.

"I guess we should walk out to the road," I said. "He might take off if he shows up and we're not there."

"I don't like him," Sylvie said. "He is . . . dark inside."

"He's our only hope. We'll never make it to the beach in time without a car."

We followed the path through the woods out to Woodside Road, where a bright blue convertible was just pulling up to the curb.

I recognized the car. It was my English teacher's. Mrs. Lovejoy treasured that car. If anything happened to it, she'd probably flunk me in revenge.

"I figured if we're gonna ride," Dash said, "we should ride in style. Hop in."

I really didn't want to, but it was quarter of nine, and Sylvie was looking at me with those beautiful eyes, and I couldn't let her down.

"Okay," I said, "let's go."

We got to the beach just as the gates were about to close.

"We'll leave the car here," said Dash, slipping the keys under the visor.

"No way!" I said. "You promised to bring it back!"

"What do you suggest? We ram the gates to get out of here?"

"You can pick the lock or something, right?"

"Yeah, but it'll take me a few minutes. We might get caught."

Sylvie lifted her head as if listening to something in the wind. But there was no wind; it was an extraordinarily calm night. "Something is wrong," she said. "We should leave."

"We'll be fine," Dash said. "This way."

Simon hadn't said anything since we'd left the clubhouse, and I asked him what was up.

"I just feel like something's gonna go wrong," he said. "We'll get caught."

"If we do," I said, "we'll just pretend we were sneaking in to swim. They'll just send us home."

"What about-?" He jerked his head towards Sylvie.

"She can come with me. For now, anyway."

"I don't like this, Mars. I think we should just go home."

"You scared, Red?" Dash teased him.

"Shut up! I am not!"

"Just a little further . . ."

All of a sudden, Sylvie took a step forward, and a huge net sprung up and surrounded her. She struggled against it, but it held pretty well.

"Excellent!" Dr. Omen stepped out from behind the bushes. "Exactly as we planned it, my boy. You have quite a devious mind."

I stared at Dash. "You traitor! That's why you were gone so long! You were telling him where we were going!"

Dash just smiled. "I'm not giving up my sixty percent."

"You can have it all!" Simon yelled at him. "You jerk!"

"What should I do with them?" Dash asked Dr. Omen.

He shrugged. "Let them go. There's no way they can stop us now. Tomorrow morning, this little beauty's on her way to a top-secret military facility."

"You said she was going to Sea World!" I shouted.

"Sea World?" Dr. Omen shook his head and sighed. "You boys think too small. What would the military pay for a secret weapon that can sneak into enemy territory, plant explosives underwater, and then get away by infiltrating the locals? She's priceless."

"She's a person! You can't sell her like a weapon!"

"My dear boy," Dr. Omen said, as Dash hauled the net up into a waiting truck, "I can do anything I want. Who's going to stop me? You?"

I had to admit he was right. He had all sorts of gadgets on his side, and we had . . . Mrs. Lovejoy's car. Which neither of us knew how to drive.

"See ya, losers," Dash said to us as he slammed the truck's back door. I caught one last glimpse of Sylvie's terrified face before the doors closed. I wanted to say I was sorry, but it wouldn't be enough.

"Let's just go home," I said to Simon. "Nothing we can do now."

"I'll send you a postcard," Dash smirked.

That was the last straw. "Screw you, Dash!" I shouted at him, and then I turned and ran the other way.

Not quite ready to go home yet, we went to the clubhouse to think about what to do next.


	10. Mermaid, pt 3

I couldn't believe Dash had betrayed us like that. I mean, I could-I knew what he was like-but I had thought we were friends. Almost friends, anyway. How could he sell Sylvie to that creep?

I sat there feeling like I was about to cry. She'd saved my life. All she wanted to do was survive, and for her species not to die out. And I'd failed her. How could I have failed her?

"What do we do now?" Simon asked me.

"I don't know," I had to admit. "It's all my fault. I never should have dragged us all out to the island that day. Sylvie would be safe under the water, and everything would be okay."

"We gotta get her back," he insisted. "You have a plan, don't you?"

I had to admit that I didn't.

"You gotta have a plan! Can't you think of one?"

I was about to answer when someone knocked on the door frame. It took us both by surprise. We were pretty sure that no one else knew about this place, so it could only be one person.

"Go away, Dash!" I shouted.

"Hey, man," he said, staying outside behind the curtain, "I only came to apologize."

"Keep your phony apologies! Why should I believe a single word you say?"

"Look, I'm coming in so we can talk face to face."

"We've got nothing to talk about."

"So I guess you don't want to hear my plan to break her out, then."

I started to say something, but then I thought about it. I didn't have a plan. And my plans were good, but Dash's were foolproof. He thought of **everything**. If he had a plan, and he was sincere about it, then maybe things would turn out okay after all.

I pulled the curtain aside and let him in. "This had better be good."

"Oh, it will be. Listen, I . . . I thought about some things, and it's just not worth it. She kept staring at me, you know, and she looked so sad, and I couldn't do that to her, I just couldn't. Is this what they call a conscience? Cause I don't think I've ever had one before."

"What about the money?" Simon asked.

"I left the money. Just dropped it right on the floor when I left. It didn't feel right keeping it. Maybe if it's still there, when we go back to get her, could we take . . . some of it?" He was looking at me.

"Let's hear your plan first," I said. "Once Sylvie is free and on her way back to the beach, if we happen to find any money just lying around, you're welcome to it. All of it. If, and only if, this plan of yours works."

"Oh, it'll work. Yes, it will. My plans never fail."

"Actually-" Simon began, but then he saw the look on Dash's face and thought better of it. "Never mind. What's the plan?"

"Glad you asked. Okay, Doc is holding her in the old abandoned aquarium just outside of town. It's just him, so there's no security or anything. And I know the codes for all the doors."

"So we just walk in, grab her, and walk out again?" I was more than a little skeptical. "It can't possibly be that easy."

"Oh, there's more. Listen up."

He outlined the rest of his plan for us. Part of me was listening eagerly, hopeful that it would actually work and I would see Sylvie again. The other part was listening for anything that could possibly go wrong with the plan. And I knew something would. Plus I still wasn't sure Dash was really on our side. I hadn't quite given up being mad at him for his betrayal, and unless his plan succeeded beyond all expectations, I would still be mad at him for a long time.

" . . . so that's it," he finished. "It's not enough to just get her out of there, cause the doc'll just chase her all over again. We've gotta make sure he's not in a position to do that. And I know how. The stuff he's keeping in that place has got to be against some law or other."

"So we call the cops on him?" I asked.

"Basically, yeah. I'll handle that part. So you guys know what you need to do, right?"

"How do we know we can trust you?" Simon asked.

"You're gonna have to have faith, little man. I wouldn't pull that kind of thing on you twice."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Believe what you want, but we gotta go now! C'mon, the car's waiting."

"You've still got the car?" I demanded. "I thought you were gonna bring it back!"

"When we're done! When she's safely swimming towards freedom and everything is okay, **then** I'll bring the car back! Okay?"

"And in the meantime, we're driving around town in full view of everyone. We'll get caught!"

"No we won't! I know how to get there on the back roads. Let's go already!"

I gave up. There was no point in arguing further; we'd never get there in time. We ran out to the convertible, climbed in, and were off.

Dash's plan was simple: one of us would distract Dr. Omen while the other two broke Sylvie out of her tank and snuck out the back door. With any luck, he wouldn't notice she was gone until we were already at the beach.

"And that's when Phase Two of my brilliant plan kicks in," Dash told us.

"What's Phase Two?" I asked.

He just grinned and wouldn't tell us anything.

"You're not gonna hurt anybody, are you?"

"Not anyone who doesn't deserve it."

"Dude, you're scaring me. What are you planning to do?"

"You'll see. When the time comes."

"If anybody gets killed, I don't even know you," Simon said. Dash looked at him and laughed.

"Don't worry, half-pint, I'm not a killer. All I wanna do is make him think twice about coming after us. It's probably best if you don't know how. That way if we do get caught, you can claim plausible deniability."

"What's that mean?"

"It means we don't know him," I explained.

We drove past the old aquarium, parked up the street, and walked back. Before we approached the building, I pulled out my disguise kit from my backpack. I had to make sure Dr. Omen wouldn't recognize me.

Once everything was in place, I walked up to the front door, carrying a box that looked heavy but didn't actually have anything in it. I wasn't planning on actually delivering it, but it was vital to the distraction.

There was a buzzer. I pressed it.

It was a few minutes before the doc answered it, just long enough to make me nervous. He peered out with a curious expression. "Yes? Who is it?"

"I have a delivery here, sir," I said, trying to make my voice low and gruff. "Sign here, please."

"I didn't order anything."

I pretended to read off the address from the clipboard. "This is what I was given, sir."

"No, no, that must be wrong! I didn't order anything!"

"I just make the deliveries, sir, I don't handle order fulfillment." I had to keep him busy for at least five minutes, probably ten just to be on the safe side, while Simon and Dash snuck in and broke Sylvie out of her tank. Then I was supposed to meet them at the back door and we would drive to a pay phone. Why, I wasn't sure, but it was all part of Dash's plan.

"Let me see that." He grabbed for the clipboard, but I held it out of his reach.

"I'm sorry, sir, it's too technical for you to understand. Your copy is on a different page." The real reason I didn't want him to see it was because it was one of my old homework papers, because we hadn't had time to print up a real fake order form.

"Is there someone I can talk to? Do you have a supervisor?"

"I'm afraid the office is vacant right now. It's after hours, everyone's gone home. We have a twenty-four-hour eight-hundred number for customer service-"

"I don't want a recording! I want your boss! Right now!" The doc pulled out a cell phone that was bigger than the clipboard. "Call him. Call him at home if you have to. I want this sorted out right this minute!"

"I don't understand what the problem is." Had it been enough time? Should I be wrapping this up and going around to the back? "If you're worried about charges, the item's been paid for already. Our returns policy is on the second page of your invoice-"

There was a thud from inside the building. Dr. Omen looked over his shoulder. "What was that?"

I shrugged. "The wind?"

"Something's going on. Just leave that here, I'll get it in a minute."

"Um . . . on second thought, I think I may have the wrong address after all. Sorry to bother you. Bye!" I grabbed the box and raced around the side of the building as the doc slammed the door. I could only hope that Dash and Simon had completed their part of the mission.

When I got to the back door, the car was waiting . . . but there was no one in it. That was not good. I threw the box in the back and got in, waiting.

The back door suddenly banged open and my friends came running out. "Good, you're here," Dash said. "Buckle up, we gotta go now!"

Sylvie ran to me and threw her arms around me. "Thank you!" she sobbed.

"Don't thank me," I said. "I was just the distraction."

Simon had something in his hand that he was waving back and forth. "These things take forever!" he complained, and I saw that he was holding a Polaroid photo.

"By the time we get to the beach," Dash said as he started the car, "they'll be crystal clear! Phase Two, well underway. Let's go!"

"What did you do?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I really wanted to know.

Dash looked at me and grinned. "Seems we weren't the only ones who had the idea to block up the tunnel. There's enough explosives inside to blow all of downtown Eerie sky-high. Once we make that call to the police, the doc'll be too busy to come after us. Ingenious, no?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "Pretty clever."

"I know." He sat back and smirked, then turned his attention to the road. As he had said, he kept to the back roads, though there wasn't much traffic on the main streets this time of night. We couldn't take the chance that we'd get stopped. After what seemed like hours, we finally pulled up at the beach.

The gates were still open from our previous visit; we'd close them on our way out.

I walked with Sylvie to the edge of the water. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

"For now," she said. "Until we meet again."

"I'll be there," I promised.

She pulled me close to her and kissed me. It felt really good. After we broke apart, she said, "Turn around."

I did so.

"All three of you."

"What? I'm not looking," said Dash, although I knew he totally was. "Okay, fine. I hope this means I get my shirt back."

"It's not even your shirt!" I said. He ignored me.

When both shirt and shorts had hit the sand, there was a splash. We turned around just in time to see a fin sticking up out of the water. Then that horsey head poked up.

From behind me came the click-whirr of a Polaroid camera. "For the evidence locker," Simon said.

"Yeah," I said. "Sure."

I stood there and watched until she was out of sight, diving down deep to swim through the tunnel to freedom. Ten years seemed like such a long time at that moment. I felt like I'd never see her again.

Dash clapped his hands together. "Well," he said, "it's been fun, but we've got a phone call to make." On the way back to the car, he picked up the shirt and tossed it in the back of the car. The shorts he left behind. Guess they didn't fit him.

"Bye, Sylvie," I said.

* * *

"The little mermaid swam through the tunnel and out to sea. She was very sad to leave her true love behind, but she knew she'd see him again. In the meantime, there was a whole big world to explore. All she had to do was be at the cat-shaped rock at the Jersey Shore in ten years. Plenty of time for exploring."

* * *

We drove to a pay phone and called the police, filling them in on Dr. Omen's illegal explosives cache. Sergeant Knight wasn't too willing to believe us at first (okay, so maybe Simon and I had made one too many claims about aliens or Bigfoot or whatever), but when we told him we had actual photographic evidence, he was at least willing to come out to the old aquarium and take a look.

I thought Doc would have long since cleared out (the reason that Simon had taken the pictures), but when we pulled up along with two cop cars, he was just loading the van.

"Excuse me, sir," Officer McNamara approached him. "Mind if we take a look inside?"

"I was just leaving, Officer."

"Sure you were," I said. "If you think you're going to find her, she's already gone."

"Her?" The cop peered into the back of the van. "Were you holding someone here, sir?"

"No, no-you don't understand . . ."

"Understand this." Simon stepped up and handed one of the other officers the photos. "We got a good look at what was inside. Shouldn't you ask him what's inside those crates marked DANGER-HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE?"

"Maybe his buddies in the Army gave them to him," said Dash. "Wonder what they're gonna say when they turn up?"

"Yeah," I said. "I bet they won't be too happy. You were going to sell them something you no longer have, isn't that right?"

"What did you do with her?" the doctor demanded. He lunged for me, but the cops intervened.

"I think you'd better come take a ride with us," said Officer McNamara. "Joe, you bring the van. We want to get a good look at what's inside. The rest of you search the facility for anything you can find."

We hung around while they searched. They asked us a few questions, and then basically let us go. They didn't even ask where we got the convertible. It was too bad, because Dash had a great story ready for that one that he never got to use. I know because he told us all about it while he drove us home.

He dropped us off at my house and said, "I'm going to return the car now. Just like I promised."

"Good."

"I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

"Yeah, see you." I happened to glance at my watch as Dash drove off. It was ten-thirty. Way past curfew, but with all that had happened, I thought it was after midnight.

"See ya, Marshall," Simon said as he headed back to his own house.

"Yeah, hope you don't get in too much trouble."

"Oh, I doubt my parents will even notice I was gone."

It was sad but true. Simon's little brother Harley was such an unholy terror that he took up all his parents' time and attention. That was part of the reason that Simon was always over at our house. Every once in a while my dad would joke about adopting him, since he was practically part of the family anyway. At least I think he was joking.

When I got in, my parents were watching TV. "Hey, guys," I said. "Sorry I'm late."

My mom jumped up and came running over to me. "Marshall, where have you **been**? We were about to call the police!"

"It's okay. I already talked to them."

"What's going on?" Dad asked.

"Sylvie's gone," I said. I sat down on the couch and felt like crying. "She had to go home. Something about her visa being messed up or something. She said she'd stay in touch."

Mom sat down beside me and put her arm around me. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I know you really liked her."

"She came all this way to see me, and she couldn't even stay."

"Can you call her?" Dad asked.

I shook my head. "She's not even on the plane yet. And she said something about really crummy phone service where she lives. She said she'd write to me as soon as she could. Which might not be for **weeks**."

"Sounds like someone needs some chocolate ice cream." Mom got up and scooped me a big bowl, which I was absolutely not allowed to have before bedtime unless someone died or something. She even put a little whipped cream on it, to make it extra special.

"Wow. Thanks." It was nice to have some sympathy at a time like this. "Do I still have to go to school tomorrow?"

"You have finals coming up," Mom said. "I think you need to go to school, don't you?"

"I guess so."

"I know it hurts right now," Dad said. "But it won't last forever. Someday, you'll meet the right girl. The one you'll spend the rest of your life with."

"Sure, Dad." I didn't tell him that I had already promised to marry Sylvie, ten years from now. I was never going to "get over" her. I didn't see why I had to.

I finished my ice cream and went to bed. I thought it would take me a long time to fall asleep, but as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light.

* * *

The next morning it was all over the news.

Dr. Omen had been arrested for possession of illegal explosives. He claimed he was training dolphins to plant underwater charges for the Army, but since there weren't any dolphins, no one believed him. The Army denied all knowledge of him and his claims.

No mention was ever made of Sylvie, which made me feel relieved. At last she could live her life in peace and not be hunted from one end of the world to the other.

I got a letter from her about a week later. It was postmarked from Australia. I remember thinking she must have been a really fast swimmer to make it all the way to Australia. I hid it in my jacket until I got to my room, and then I opened it.

 _Marshall,_

 _Thank you so much for helping me escape. I need to be free, and if that doctor had kept me locked up, I never would have seen open ocean again. I'm in Sydney right now, but eventually I hope to make my way to Scotland. I've heard rumors there's one of my kind in Loch Ness, and I'm hoping it's true. It's a terrible thing to be alone._

 _Remember your promise. I'll see you in ten years, by the big rock that looks like a cat._

 _Love,_

 _Sylvie_

I slept with that letter under my pillow until the next one arrived three weeks later. She'd made it to Loch Ness; unfortunately, Nessie was not at home when she arrived. She was making inquiries, but she was running into a bit of trouble with the locals. _I thought they spoke English here,_ she wrote. _No one here seems to understand a word I say._

On the day after the last day of school, the island ferries started running during the week. Simon and I hopped aboard the first one of the day. Dash refused to come with us, Dramamine or no Dramamine. I think he still felt a bit guilty about helping to get Sylvie captured in the first place.

There was a net of bright orange safety fencing around the open sides of the dock. Guess they didn't want to take any chances on anyone else falling in. I sat down on a big rock at the edge of the water and looked out at the lake. It didn't look that big on the surface. How many people knew that a hundred feet down, there was a tunnel to a river that led out to the ocean?

Maybe just us.

"You think she's ever coming back?" Simon asked me.

"I hope so," I said.

* * *

"And they all lived happily ever after," I finished.

Holly wasn't letting me off so easily. "Daddy! What happened when she went to the beach, ten years later?"

"Um . . ."

"Daddy."

"I wasn't there. But I had a **really** good excuse."

* * *

Sylvie made it to the cat-shaped rock at sunset on the day she had promised to meet me. She found my two best friends there instead.

"Where is Marshall?" she asked.

"Yeah," Dash began, "that's kind of a funny story . . ."

"He tried really hard to be here," said Simon. "But where he is now . . . you know what? He sent us a message to give to you. I'll let him speak for himself."

It had taken me two weeks to save up enough computer time to record my message to Sylvie, and another week to make sure it was sent off properly. I had e-mailed a hard copy of my message as well, just in case the video didn't work right or got erased or something.

Simon had brought along his laptop to show her. He opened the message and pressed Play.

"Hello, Sylvie. I know you're disappointed that I couldn't be there with you. I really tried, but my CO couldn't give me the time off. See . . . I'm in Iraq. I enlisted after 9/11, and I've been here for almost eight months. I should be home for Christmas, though. Simon has an address where you can write to me; we'll make plans, as soon as I'm a civilian again. I can't wait to see you. Thanks for understanding. I love you, Sylvie."

That was it. There was so much more I wanted to say to her, but I didn't want to keep her there longer than necessary.

"He's a soldier," she said.

"Do you want the e-mail address or the regular mail? E-mail is faster, but he can't check it that often, so maybe the regular mail is-"

"Why?"

"Cause that's how he is," said Dash. "He's gotta save the whole world. You'll get your turn soon."

"All right." She hauled a waterproof backpack up onto the shore. "Can you give me a ride back to Eerie? And I need a place to stay. And probably a job too. I want to be there when he comes home. We've waited long enough."

"Sure." Dash held the back door for her. "You're family. And Eerie is your home, too. Let's go home, Mermaid."

She giggled. "I like that. Mermaid. Like Ariel."

"You know Ariel?" Simon asked.

"I've seen movies. Ariel gave up her life in the sea for the man she loved. I can do the same."

They drove off, on their way home.

* * *

"Happily ever after." I looked down. Holly was asleep, bless her little heart. I straightened her Elsa blanket and tucked her favorite stuffed Flounder in beside her.

"Good night, mer-baby. I hope you find your handsome prince someday. Even if he's just an ordinary kid with balance issues."

Fairy tales do come true. Even in Eerie.


	11. Christmas Thief, pt 1

One of my favorite things is being asked to read my work for library or school groups. Today I was sharing with Jack's first-grade class, on the last day before Christmas break.

"I have a very special story to share today," I said, as I opened the book. "This is called _The Christmas Thief,_ and it's mostly a true story. That means that some things in the story actually happened, and some I made up. See if you can figure out what's true and what isn't."

* * *

It was my first Christmas in Eerie, and I wanted it to be special. In fact, I had a whole list of stuff to make the perfect Christmas.

Item number one: a Christmas tree.

Simon and I dragged down the big box that contained our tree from the storage space in the attic.

"Boy, this thing sure is big," he said, as we guided the box down the stairs. "How're we gonna get it all put together by the time your folks come home from Muncie?"

"I don't know."

"Don't drop it."

"I'm not gonna drop it!"

"Maybe you should have gone in front."

"It's okay. We're almost there."

Once we had the box safely on the living room floor, we had to go back up for the decorations.

"What's a Cutty Sark?" Simon asked, toting the smaller box all by himself.

"It's a brand of liquor, I think. Mom got a bunch of boxes from the liquor store when we moved. Cause they're sturdier."

"You're sure we got the right ones?"

"Yeah, see where it says XDEC on the side there? That means Christmas decorations."

"But Christmas doesn't start with an X! Shouldn't it be CDEC?"

"Just be careful with it. Those things in there are all breakable."

We opened the box for the tree and found it in pieces that all looked the same. "How will we ever figure out which ones go where?" I asked, trying to separate out the branches by size.

Simon was looking at something on the trunk. "There's colored dots going all the way up. I think all we have to do is find the pieces with the same color on them and just fit them together."

"Okay." That made sense. "What's the first color from the bottom?"

He bent down and looked. "Dark blue."

I figured that the branches on the bottom of the tree would be the biggest ones . . . and I was right. "Here's one."

"Are all the big ones dark blue?"

"Yeah, looks like it."

We wasted no time putting all the bottom branches in place. "What's the next color?"

"Yellow."

With the color-coding system to guide us, we had the tree all put together in a short time. Now on to the decorations. We opened the box and found that more than half the lights had been broken in transit.

"Careful," I said, trying to lift out a string of broken lights without touching them. "Some of these broken bulbs are still in the sockets-"

"Ow!"

"We'll just put these aside till Dad comes home, then. Let me just go get a Band-Aid. And some alcohol. And the tweezers. I'll be right back."

"Get it out get it out get it out!"

"Hang on, Simon, I'm coming!" I found the alcohol and the Band-Aids, but the tweezers weren't in the bathroom. I tried my parents' room, but they weren't there either.

"Marshall, I'm **bleeding**!"

"I know! Hold on!" In desperation, I tried my sister Syndi's room, a place I was normally not allowed to go. There were the tweezers, right on the dressing table. I grabbed them and a tissue and ran back out to the living room.

"Okay, just hold still a second." I wet the tissue in the alcohol and barely touched it to the bloody spot. Simon bit his lip and tried not to cry.

"I think I got it." It took two tries, but finally I grasped the tiny piece of glass with the tweezers and pulled it out. I wrapped it in the tissue and buried it at the bottom of the trash. Then I unwrapped a Mickey Mouse Band-Aid.

"Weren't there any normal ones?" Simon asked, as I wrapped it around his finger.

"Nope. Mom must've gotten them on sale."

We stood back and looked at the bare tree.

"Could we put just the decorations up?" Simon asked. "Or do you think those are broken, too?"

"No, we have to put the lights on first. We'll have to go buy a fresh box tomorrow. We have to do our Christmas shopping anyway. Item two on the list."

Headlights splashed the living room. Mom and Dad were home. They came in and saw the tree already up, and Dad said, "Boys, I thought we were going to wait to put the tree up?"

"I wanted to surprise you," I said. "But the lights are all broken. We have to go get new ones."

"We can do it tomorrow after school," Simon offered.

"Well, all right. I'll give you the money. Did you check the decorations?" Dad went over and shook the Cutty Sark box. I could hear stuff shifting around, but nothing sounded broken.

"We didn't want to put the decorations up," I said, "until the lights were on. We've still got time, right?"

"We've got a lot of work to do this week," Mom reminded me. "We're having a big open house Christmas Eve," she told Simon. "You and your family are invited, of course."

"Yeah, sure," he said, but he didn't look too happy about it.

"Can we have a sleepover?" I asked.

"I suppose. As long as you do your fair share of the work. Why don't you invite your other little friend there, what's his name?"

"I'll ask him," I said, though I wasn't sure he'd even want to come. Then again, he had no family, so he probably wasn't doing anything for Christmas.

Besides, item five on my list was "help the less fortunate." And no one I knew was less fortunate than Dash.

* * *

The next day, Simon and I went to the World of Stuff to get the lights and the presents. I found a Stephen Hawking book for my dad, a hat and gloves for my mom, but when it came to Syndi, I was stuck.

Mr. Radford was at the counter, wearing a Santa hat and a red and green tie. "Merry Christmas, boys! What can I do for you?"

"I need something for my sister," I said.

"I know just the thing." He came around and went into the toy section, stopping in front on an antique dollhouse. "How's this?"

"I don't know. She's a little old to play with dolls."

"No? Okay, then." He looked around, and then found a set of hair curlers. "What about this?"

"I think she has that one already."

"Boy, tough crowd. Wait a minute-I know just the thing!"

He crossed the store to the book section in the back, looked up and down the stacks, and finally pulled out a slim book with a brown cover. " _Quotations for All Occasions_. Just the thing for the budding journalist!"

"It's perfect!" I said. "Thanks."

Simon picked up a shaving kit for his dad and a tea set for his mom. "She really needs these," he said. "Her whole set of china cups got broken last month."

"What happened? Did the shelf collapse?"

"Harley was climbing up to get a cookie, and he pulled the whole china cabinet down."

"Yikes! What are you getting him?"

"Oh, he's easy. He likes anything that makes noise."

We went up to pay for our stuff. Beside the register, in a refrigerated case, were packages of cookie dough and tubs of colored sugar crystals.

I looked at Simon. "Item three on the list is 'bake Christmas cookies.' How many do you think we'll need?"

He picked up one of the packages and looked at it. "It says this makes one dozen cookies. So if we wanted to make enough for the party . . . four?"

"Okay. We should get some stuff to decorate them with, too."

We paid for all our stuff and left, loaded down with Christmas cheer. On our way out, we passed a man who looked like he'd just stepped out of the Seventies: white disco suit, slicked-back hair and all. He looked at me curiously as he passed, but said nothing.

When we got outside, I saw Dash leaning against a mailbox, trying to keep warm. He had no hat or gloves, and only his thin trench coat to cover him.

"Hey! Dash!" I called out to him.

He looked like he was getting ready to run. "I didn't do it! I wasn't even there at the time! Whoever told you I was is lying!"

"Calm down." I put my bundles down on a nearby bench and walked over to him. "Are you doing anything for Christmas?"

"Well, let me see . . . oh, I know! Santa's coming to take me away to the North Pole in his sleigh. We'll sit by the fire and drink hot chocolate and eat candy canes!"

"Seriously?"

"No! Don't be an idiot! Why would I have any plans for Christmas?"

"You do now." I smiled. "You're invited to my house for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We're gonna have a sleepover. It'll be fun."

"Really? You'd spend your Christmas with me, after all I've done to you?"

"Sure."

"I don't have money for presents."

"I'm not inviting you cause I want an extra present. I'm inviting you cause it's the right thing to do. Are you coming or not?"

He pretended to think about it for a few seconds. "Hey, why not? Not as if I got anything better to do."

"You can even make cookies with us," said Simon. "Come on."

"Cookies?"

"I'll let you keep the three best ones," I said. "Come on."

"All right, fine."

* * *

We couldn't find the cookie cutters.

"They have to be in there somewhere!" Mom said. "Did you look?"

"We looked!"

"Did you **look** through things, or did you just open the door, glance inside, and close it again?"

"We looked! We **look** looked! They're not there!"

"That's impossible, I know I put them in-"

Half an hour later, after searching every single cabinet, we finally found two cutters, one star-shaped and the other gingerbread man-shaped. "That should be enough," I said. "Two dozen stars, two dozen gingerbread men."

"Two dozen minus my three," said Dash. "Three per batch."

"Three **altogether** ," I said firmly. "We need to have enough for the party!"

"Party's not for days! We'll make more."

"Three cookies. That's it. Till the party, anyway."

He sighed, blowing a chunk of grey hair off his face. "Fine. Let's get cutting."

"'Step one,'" Simon read off the package, "'roll out the dough.' Do we have a rolling pin?"

I held it up. "Check."

"And a flat surface?"

Dash cleared a section of the counter by sweeping everything onto the floor with his arm. "Check."

"Really?" I looked at him, and then I picked everything up and put it on a different part of the counter.

He shrugged. "Fastest way to do anything's just to do it."

"Whatever." I spread wax paper out on the cleared section of the counter so we wouldn't make too much of a mess. "Now what?"

Simon rolled out the dough, and we made . . . vaguely blobby cookies that all looked the same. You couldn't tell which ones were gingerbread men and which were stars.

"They'll look better once they're decorated," I said. "Let's make another batch and put them both in together. That way we'll be done twice as fast."

"Gimme those things." When the dough was rolled out, Dash slammed the cookie cutters into the dough so hard I thought he'd break the counter, but we wound up with cookies that actually looked like something.

"See? You leave the cutting to me, and I'll let you preschoolers decorate. Maybe we'll put gumdrops on 'em. You like gumdrops?"

"You're having fun," I said.

He looked insulted. "Don't tell anyone! I got a reputation to protect!"

We let him put gumdrops on the gingerbread men, when they came out of the oven. By the time my dad got home from work, we had all the cookies decorated and stored in a tin on top of the refrigerator. Mission accomplished.

"What's next on the list?" Simon asked.

"You have a list?" Dash looked at me funny.

"Yeah, I have a list! So we don't forget anything. Let's see . . . tree . . . shopping . . . cookies . . . four is 'sing Christmas carols.' We can do that tomorrow afternoon after I've gone around collecting for my paper route. Five we've done . . . oh, no."

"What?"

"Item six: take a child to see Santa."

"Oh no is right," Simon groaned.

"What?" Dash repeated.

"You've never met Harley, have you?"

* * *

The line for Santa stretched halfway down the mall.

"Oh, man!" Simon pouted, but never let go of Harley's hand. "We'll never make it before the mall closes!"

"Maybe you shouldn't have waited till two days before Christmas," Dash said.

"Everyone has these long lists!" Simon complained. "They're taking up all Santa's time! He'll never get to us!"

"Who's next?" someone called.

I looked up and saw that the line in front of us had magically disappeared. "I guess that's us. Come on, guys."

The mall Santa didn't look too authentic. He had a real beard, but not much hair, and what he did have was stringy and grayish. At least he didn't smell like vodka, like the mall Santa I'd visited when I was seven.

"Ho, ho, ho!" "Santa" said. "And what's your name, little boy?"

Harley stared up at that white-bearded, gray-haired visage and said nothing.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"He's never like this," Simon said. "He was so excited he was up all last night. Maybe he's tired."

"Am not!" Harley protested. He looked up at Santa and said, "My name is Harley Schwarzenegger Holmes, and for Christmas I want a Thunder Dino Megabot. The red one, with real moving parts. Not some cheap plastic knockoff. I **know** the difference."

"Ho, ho, ho, of course you do! And what about you boys?" he asked us. "Is there something special you'd like for Christmas?"

"Us?" I looked around, as if he might possibly be talking to someone else. "Well, um . . . I could use a new telescope. The Stargazer 5000. I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"I want _Monsters Illustrated_ ," Simon said. "The really cool leather-bound edition."

"What about you?" Santa looked at Dash. "Is there anything special you'd like for Christmas, son?"

Dash looked away. "All I want is my life back. I want what was taken from me. I want to know who I am again. Can you fit that in your sack?"

"Okay, time's up," the elf in charge said, hustling us out.

"What?" Simon was outraged. "But everyone before us took forever!"

"Yeah, well, the mall's closing. Pose for your picture and hit the road."

"Jeez, who crawled up your chimney?" Dash muttered.

Fortunately the photographer was in better spirits. "Push together a little more, boys. Okay, now everyone say 'Jingle bells!'"

"Jingle bells!" we chorused, as the flash went off, blinding me. Just before it did, I saw that Seventies guy again, just on the edge of the crowd. Then everything went white.

By the time my vision cleared, we were at the mall exit, and my mom was there to pick us up.

"Did you see Santa?" she said, all excited.

Harley nodded, the picture of innocence. "Uh huh! We got our picture taken! Santa looks different than he did last year."

"Well, you know those are only Santa's helpers," she said. "Because Santa's busy at the North Pole making the toys."

"Besides," I said, "the real Santa can't be photographed."

Simon gave me a look. "We'll see about that!"

* * *

Everything was ready for the big party. It wasn't even on the list, but it should have been.

I looked at the Christmas tree. The new, unbroken lights were really nice. Most of the ornaments had survived the trip; right there was the one I'd made for my mom in kindergarten.

Mom came downstairs, in her robe. "I'm going to take a shower and get dressed," she said. "When everyone gets here, it's your job to take their coats and hang them in the closet. Can you do that for me?"

"Sure, Mom."

She smiled. "I know the move was hard on you, Marshall, and you're still adjusting, but I really want to make a good impression on the new neighbors. You're not wearing **that** , are you?"

I was still in my favorite Giants sweatshirt. "Um, no?"

"You're darn right, no. Why don't you wear the nice slacks and shirt Grandma sent you?"

Inwardly, I groaned. "Nice" meant I would look like a dork, in front of all the neighbors, or at least those who showed up. But it was Christmas, and you don't wear sweats at Christmas. "Okay, Mom."

I wore the shirt untucked so it didn't look too dorky. By now it was six-thirty. Syndi was mixing the punch, Dad was going around lighting candles and wondering aloud if our homeowners' insurance covered accidental candle fires, and all that was left was for the guests to arrive.

At six-forty-five, the doorbell rang. It was Simon, all dressed up in a red and green sweater vest, with Harley in tow. Harley was carrying a big plastic bucket that looked like it was full of small objects.

"Where's your mom and dad?" I asked.

Simon grimaced. "Plumbing emergency. Let's just say that something got flushed that shouldn't have been."

Harley grinned, sat down in the middle of the living room, and dumped out the plastic bucket. It turned out to be action figures-nice ones, too. He had Batman and Superman and Spider-Man and Godzilla and a couple of _Star Trek_ characters and even some that looked Japanese.

"Why don't we bring those upstairs to my room?" I said. "Once everyone gets here, there's not gonna be a lot of room to play."

Harley ignored me, slamming two Army guys together over and over and making explosion sounds.

"They're gonna get stepped on," said Simon. He bent down and started scooping up toys back into the bucket. Harley grabbed it and dumped it out again. "Fine, but when they get broken, don't come crying to me. I tried to help."

The doorbell rang again. "You watch him," I said. "I'm on coat duty."

"Yeah, okay."

I opened the door to find Dash there, shivering in his big black coat. "Hey," he said.

"Merry Christmas," I greeted him. "Glad you could make it. May I take your coat?"

"Take it," he said, thrusting it at me. "This thing's worthless anyway." I hung it in the closet and came back just as the doorbell rang again.

It was that way for the next hour or so. When we ran out of room in the closet, I brought the coats upstairs and piled them on my parents' bed. I'd have to go up and bring them down again at the end of the night, but I was ready for that.

Almost the whole neighborhood was there. The King dropped by and sang a few Christmas songs for us. The Wilson twins brought their super-secret peppermint cocoa recipe. Even the mayor stopped in for a few minutes on his way to another party. He didn't stay long, which was probably a good thing.

We got to watch _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ _and A Charlie Brown Christmas_ before the adults came in and kicked us out to watch some football game. We retreated to the kitchen with cups of peppermint cocoa.

"To us," I said, raising my mug.

"To Christmas," said Simon.

Dash grinned. "To surviving another year in this crazy town."

We clinked mugs and drank.

Eventually we left the kitchen. Simon had to take Harley home and pick up his video camera, which I warned him again was a waste of time. Dash mostly wandered around picking up presents and shaking them.

By the time Simon came back, Dash and I were in our pajamas and watching Christmas specials while eating leftover party snacks. It was barely ten o'clock, but it felt like midnight. Yet we weren't tired at all.

"Oh, good," Simon said, seeing that we were both still awake. "You can help me set up the camera."

I resisted the urge to tell him one more time that it wasn't going to work and instead connected cords and set the timer.

"Aren't you afraid Santa will see that and know what you're up to?" Dash said mockingly.

Simon was oblivious to his tone. "We'll move the tree slightly in front of it like this." He started to slide the tree over, and it swayed dangerously.

"Maybe we shouldn't move the tree," I said, catching it before it toppled over.

"But we have to hide the camera somehow!"

"Gimme that." Dash took the camera and turned around, trying to find the perfect hiding spot that also allowed perfect visibility. He ended up sticking it behind the poinsettia on the end table, after checking to see if it had a good angle on the fireplace. "There. You're welcome."

"Let's just go to bed already," I said. I shut off the TV and turned down the covers on the couch bed.

Dash looked at it skeptically. "Are we all gonna fit on that thing?"

"Sure we will. It's big enough for two full-grown adults, so there should be plenty of room for the three of us. Simon, you're in the middle."

"Great," he moaned. "I'll get squashed!"

"No, you won't. It'll be fine. I don't move around a lot in my sleep."

Simon looked at Dash, who shrugged. "I can't say the same. I have yet to wake up in the same position I went to sleep in. But I'll try not to roll over on you, squirt."

"Okay," he said. "Night, Mars."

"Night, Simon. Night, Dash."

"Night, dweebs. Don't steal my covers!" He rolled over so his back was to us.

Oh, well. I settled in and turned the light off, closing my eyes. I didn't expect to fall asleep right away. I never did, on Christmas Eve. But at some point, the line between sleeping and waking blurred, and I slipped into dreams.

I woke up once while it was still dark, realized it couldn't be morning yet, and went back to sleep. When I woke up again, the sun was up.

I rolled over to see if the others were awake yet. Simon was still sleeping, his head pressed into my shoulder. Beyond him was an empty space. Huh. Where was Dash?

Probably in the bathroom, I decided as I got up. It was then that I found the other big mystery of that Christmas morning.

There were no presents under the tree.

* * *

The bell rang. "Uh oh," Miss Willis, Jack's teacher, said. "That's the lunch bell. We'll finish the story when we come back, won't we, Mr. Teller?"

"Uh, sure," I said, wondering how I'd cram the whole day's events into the forty-five minutes we'd have left in the school day. There was a lot to cover . . . and if the first part had been strange, the second was even weirder. I wasn't sure the kids would believe me.


	12. Christmas Thief, pt 2

School would be getting out for Christmas in just under an hour. I had to wrap this up quickly, while still leaving enough details to keep the kids interested.

"So there we were," I said. "Someone stole all our presents. Right out from under our tree while we were sleeping! Who do you think it was?"

"Bad Santa!" a little girl shouted.

"The Grinch?" a boy piped up.

"That's what we thought," I said. "But it was even stranger than that . . ."

* * *

"Simon, wake up!" I prodded him until he began to move slowly and lazily.

"Mmmhh? Whaahh?" His eyes opened and he stared up at me. "Is it Christmas?"

"Yeah, but . . . our presents are gone."

"Oh, okay." He started to roll over and go back to sleep, but then it hit him. " **WHAT?** "

"The presents aren't there. And neither is Dash."

"You don't think he-"

"Pulled a Grinch on us? I wouldn't put it past him. Come on, we have to find those presents before everyone else wakes up and finds them gone!"

"I can't believe he'd do that!" Simon was furious. "After we were so nice to him and everything! Why would he steal our presents?"

"It's what he does," I said. "I guess people really don't change after all. He had us both fooled, buddy."

"Where do you suppose he hid the presents?"

I had to think about it. Dash wasn't big on hard work. Filling up a big sack with all the presents and then dragging it down the street would have been too much work, not to mention obvious. "I think they're still in the house somewhere. Someplace we'd never think to look for them."

We looked at each other, and in the same instant, we realized where he must be.

"The Secret Spot!"

We ran up the stairs as quietly as possible, so we wouldn't wake the rest of the family. I was hoping I could get this taken care of before they woke up and I had to explain where all the presents had gone. If Dash gave up the presents without a fight, I wouldn't call the cops on him, but somehow I doubted it would be that easy.

We found him trying to break into the Evidence Locker, to which I have the only key. The moment I saw him, I lost my cool. First he stole our Christmas presents, now he was trying to get into our most secret of secret places? No way! I rushed over, grabbed him by the shoulders, and slammed him into the wall. "You jerk!"

"Aaahh! What the heck, dude? I wasn't gonna take anything! I just wanted to see what you were hidin' in here!"

"What about what **you're** hiding? Where are the presents, Dash?"

"What?" The look on his face was completely blank.

"Yeah, where'd you hide 'em?" Simon piped up.

Dash wormed his way out of my grasp and stood aside. He was still in his pajamas, the ones he'd borrowed from me last night. "Why would you think **I** had your presents? I've been trying to find 'em myself, but they're nowhere to be found. I came up here and thought they might be locked up in this thing." He rattled the lock, but it held.

"I invited you into my house!" I said, trying to keep my voice down. It wasn't easy; I was really mad at him. "I let you make cookies with us! I slept in the same bed with you last night! And this is how you thank me? I thought we were friends!"

"I have no friends," Dash said, like he was bragging about it. "Shoulda known better, Teller. Give me what's mine and I'll clear out of here before your folks wake up. They don't have to know about this."

"Give **you** what's yours? Give back what **you** took and I won't call the cops!"

"I'm telling you, I didn't take your stupid presents! Where would I hide them, in my underwear? Some of those boxes were pretty big!"

"You hid them somewhere! Tell me where they are!"

"How can I tell you what I don't know?"

I looked into his eyes, and though I knew he would say anything to get out of trouble, somehow I knew he was telling the truth. "Well, if you didn't take them, where are they?"

"How should I know? They were there when I went to bed. They were gone when I woke up. Someone else took them."

"But who would do that?"

"You don't suppose there's really a Grinch, do you?" He wasn't joking.

"If we lived anywhere else," I said, "I'd say of course not. But stranger things have happened in Eerie."

Simon was frantically trying to get my attention. "Marshall! I know what to do!"

"What?" I turned to him.

"Check the camera! Whoever the thief is, we caught him live on video! All we have to do is rewind the tape and we'll find out who it is!"

"Simon, you're a genius! Guess you were right all along. I just hope we got a good shot of his face."

We went back downstairs and checked the camera. It was still running-it was an eight-hour tape. I hit REWIND and waited till it went all the way back to the beginning.

"Well, there's us," I said, "going to bed."

"And there," said Dash, "are the presents. All present and accounted for. Ha!" At our confused looks, he explained, " **Present** and accounted for? Present, presents? Get it?"

We didn't.

"Whatever."

I fast-forwarded it a bit, and suddenly there was static on the tape. When it cleared, everything looked normal. Except . . .

"There's more presents in the pile," said Simon. "See, he **was** here!"

"And the camera glitched just as he got here," I said, "proving that he can't be photographed."

"Will you two knock it off and find our present thief?" Dash grumbled. "Fast-forward."

So I did. I must have gone too far, because when I stopped it, the presents were gone. The time stamp in the corner said 02:15:04. I backed up to just after the glitch, and that time stamp was 00:12:22.

"So the thief came in sometime between midnight and two a. m.," I said. "Let's let it run for a bit and see if we can spot him."

The tape continued at normal speed. Nothing to see except the three of us sleeping. Then, at about 1:30, the front door opened.

"Here we go," I said, slowing down to frame-by-frame. "Let's get a look at you, Mr. Present Thief."

We watched the door open in extreme slow motion. Then we saw him.

"It's Seventies Guy," I said. "I've seen him all over town the last couple of days. What's he doing here?"

"Do you know who that is?" Simon asked.

"No. Why?"

"How did he get in, anyway?"

"I . . . might have told him where to find the spare key," said Dash.

I stopped the tape and looked at him. "Why?"

"I didn't know he would steal all our Christmas presents! I ran into him on the street. He asked me if I knew you, and I said yes. He seemed real excited about it. Asked me where you lived. So I told him."

"You told a complete stranger where I live?"

"I thought he knew you! Honestly, I wouldn't have told him if I thought he was gonna steal from you!"

"Right, that's **your** job," Simon quipped.

"Let's just watch the rest of this," I said. I restarted the tape.

The guy-thief or not-came in and took a seat in the recliner. He seemed to be waiting for something. I wondered what.

We found out a few minutes later. There was another one of those glitches, and suddenly Seventies Guy was in the middle of the frame, struggling with something tall and green.

"Holy cow, there **is** a Grinch!" Simon exclaimed.

"Wrong shape," I said. "And not really . . . furry enough."

"Can you get a better angle on the action?" asked Dash.

I shook my head. "I can zoom in, though, see if we can see them better."

"Do it."

I hit MAGNIFY, and went in for a better look at our intruder. On closer examination, I found that he wasn't the Grinch. In fact, he wasn't human at all.

His lightbulb-shaped head had eyes that were three times the size of a normal human's, and appeared pure black. Or maybe that was just the video. He had no clothes other than a flap of fabric covering him below the waist, and I could only think that he must have been freezing. Then I remembered that this alien had stolen our Christmas presents, and I felt a little less sympathetic toward him.

"What is that thing?" asked Dash.

"It's a real live alien," Simon gasped. "Do you realize that we have right here real photographic proof of life on other planets?"

"I'd settle for getting our presents back," I said. "But we'll save the tape anyway."

"Why would an alien steal our Christmas presents?"

"Why would they want to stick a probe up someone's butt?" Dash quipped. "They're aliens, squirt. Who knows why they do what they do?"

"What's he doing?"

The alien started to shimmer and fade, and at first I thought it was the video, but Seventies Guy looked perfectly normal. Then he seemed to realize what was happening, and he made a grab for the alien just as the alien faded away completely. A moment later, so did all our presents. Just vanished, into thin air.

Seventies Guy looked around, and said something, but the camera didn't record audio, and I suspected that in this case, that might be for the best. Somehow I doubted that whatever he'd said was anything I could repeat in front of my mom. Then he went out the front door, slamming it behind him.

"That's what woke me up," I said, as my video counterpart sat up, looked around, and then went back to sleep. "How come it didn't wake you guys up?"

Simon shrugged. "After years of sharing a room with Harley, I guess I'm used to loud noises."

Dash said nothing. He looked like he was thinking hard about something. I waited to see what he would come up with.

"I know where this guy is," he said at last. "If he's still here. He asked me if I knew a place to stay, off the grid. I told him there were lots of places. He asked what was the best one, and I said probably the old Peavey mansion on the edge of town. It's scheduled to be torn down after the holidays, but I got the feeling he wasn't planning on sticking around that long."

"We'll go there right now," I said. "Simon, you stay here. If my parents or Syndi wake up, don't let them go into the living room! Wait till I give you the all-clear. We don't want them to know about the missing presents."

"Yes, sir!" Simon gave me a clumsy salute.

"C'mon," I said to Dash. "Let's go talk to this guy."

He looked at me seriously. "I think we should get dressed first. Unless you plan on confronting him wearing Batman pajamas."

I hadn't realized I was wearing the Batsuit. "Right," I said, and ran upstairs to change. A few minutes later, we were on our way.

* * *

The Peavey mansion was on the edge of town, all right-all the way on the other side of town. It took forever for us to get there on foot.

"So is there anything else you told this guy that I should know about?" I asked Dash. "Anything he told you? Like his name, or why he wanted to break into my house, or anything at all?"

"I didn't ask, and he didn't volunteer. Here we are. Don't bother going to the door-they're all locked. But there's a broken window on the north side of the house that they haven't bothered to board up. I used to go in and out that way."

"Wait, you stayed here?"

"I lasted one night before leaving it for better accommodations. The way the wind blows through the place, it sounds like voices sometimes. I didn't like what they were saying about me."

I just shook my head. "Whatever. You think he's here?"

"Oh, he is here," said a voice from behind me. "Turn around slowly, and keep your hands in sight."

We did so. I was expecting a cop, or a night watchman or something. What I was **not** expecting was Seventies Guy, a blue puffy jacket thrown over his usual ensemble, standing there holding a gun on us.

When he saw me, though, he lowered the gun and bowed his head slightly. "You are Marshall Teller?" he asked.

"Yeah, who are you?"

"Why have you come here?"

"Why did you come to my house? Where are all our Christmas presents? What was that thing you were fighting with?"

"It is rude to answer a question with a question-or several questions-rude boy who will become a great man. Come inside before someone sees us." He slipped the gun into his coat pocket and led us up onto the front porch.

"I thought the doors in this place were locked."

He looked back at me and smiled. "Not to one such as me." And then he pulled a little device out of his other pocket and pointed it at the door. It swung open all on its own.

"Wow," I said. "Are you a spy or something?"

"No," he said. "All my activities here are legal."

"Stealing Christmas presents?" asked Dash.

"No," he said. "I have recovered the stolen presents. It is what a policeman does, no?"

"You're a **cop**?" I stared at him. He looked about as far from a cop as anyone I'd ever seen.

"I am. Come in, boys. I will explain everything."

We stepped inside. The place was a little dusty, but didn't look like it would fall down around us. There was even a couch and a recliner.

Seventies Cop settled into the recliner, and invited us to share the couch. I looked at Dash, and he nodded. We sat down.

"First of all," the man said, "my name is Nareef Almazi. I was born in Lowell, Massachusetts, but my family originated in the country formerly known as Iraq."

"It's still called Iraq," I said. "They haven't changed the name of the country."

"They will," he said. "I am with a branch of law enforcement which deals with extraterrestrial offenders."

I stared at him. "Aliens?"

"Indeed. The 'thing' you saw me fighting with on your primitive video device was a Skreezik, a being from a planet in the vicinity of Alpha Centauri. Most Skreeziks are decent and law-abiding, but this one-Maah-is the worst sort of criminal imaginable. He has no regard for human life whatsoever."

"And he came and stole my Christmas presents?" I asked.

"Yeah," agreed Dash. "Real small-time for a galactic baddie."

"He was not here to steal anything," Nareef explained. "He came here for me. He wanted to kill me here, one hundred and seventy years before I will be born."

At this revelation, I got up and paced around the room. "Aliens **and** time travel? Are you sure you're not just messing with me?"

"I would never mess with you, Marshall Teller," he said. "I came here to thank you."

"For what?"

"For saving a little girl who will grow up to become my great-great-grandmother. It took me almost ten years to save up enough credits for the jaunt. I did not know that Maah had followed me, until he appeared in your house and we struggled. I believe he stole your presents only to draw me out; he has no use for them."

"But you said you recovered them."

"I have." He gestured to a huge, overfilled plastic bag beside the chair. "You may take them home with you."

"So where is this Maah guy now?" asked Dash.

"Not here and now," said Nareef. "He has snapped back to his own time, and I must follow. I wanted to thank you first, for all you have done, and all you have yet to do. You will be a great man, Marshall Teller. Always remember to follow your heart. They may call you foolish, even insane, but you must stay true to your own-"

All of a sudden there was an explosion of white light, and something green landed on top of him mid-sentence.

"Thought you could get rid of me that easily?" Maah growled. He sounded like a dog who had somehow learned English.

There was a clunk as Nareef's gun hit the floor. Dash and I both dove for it, but I got there first. I came up pointing it at Maah, but he swiveled around so that Nareef was in front of him like a shield.

"I will kill you next," the alien said. "Or maybe I should kill you first and solve both my problems in one go? I will be famous throughout the galaxy as the one who-"

BONK! Dash clonked him over the head with a chair. The alien went down and then vanished, in the process dropping Nareef, who scrambled away. I handed him back his gun.

"Thank you for not attempting to fire this," he said. "It is a toy."

"A toy?" Dash looked astonished and offended. "What were you gonna do with a toy gun?"

"I could not bring my real one. Thank you for your assistance, whoever you are."

"You don't know my name?"

He shrugged. "You are not in the history books. I am sorry."

"What are you going to do now?" I asked.

"Go after Maah. If I leave now, I can pick up his tachyon trail easily. It has been a pleasure and a blessing to have met you, Marshall. I thank you for my existence."

"What's her name? Your grandmother, I mean."

He smiled. "Things must happen in their own time, my friend. If I were to tell you now, you would search for her until you found her, and that would be several years too early. She has not even been born yet. Let nature take its course. You will know her when you meet her, but you must meet her when it is the proper time. Farewell, and God be with you both."

He touched something on his belt, and disappeared.

"Well, that was helpful," said Dash. "Now let's get this big bag of presents home before your parents find out."

"I don't know how I'd explain it if they did. An alien came here looking for a guy who time-traveled back two hundred years to meet me? They'll think I made it up."

"Yeah, it definitely sounds nuts." Dash picked up the bag, and almost dropped it again. "How many presents did you get, anyway? This thing weighs a ton!"

"It's not just my presents," I pointed out. "They're for the whole family."

"So who asked for a box of rocks?"

"We'll take turns carrying it. When it gets too heavy for you, let me know, and I'll take it."

"Too bad we don't have two bags, so we could split the load."

"Right. Next time we have our Christmas presents stolen by an evil time-traveling alien, I'll remember to bring along an extra bag."

He smirked. "Hey, this is Eerie. There's nothing too weird for this town."

Eventually we made it home, snuck in the back door, and emptied the bag in front of the tree.

"I hope nothing got broken," I said. "You didn't hear anything rattling around in there, did you?"

"I don't think so." Dash started separating the presents into piles.

"What are you doing?"

"Sorting them by who they're for. So everyone gets their own pile. That okay with you?"

"Just do it quickly!" I could hear voices upstairs, but I knew Simon couldn't hold them off long by himself. We were lucky he'd managed it this long.

"Where are you going?" Dash demanded, as I started up the stairs.

"I'm going to give Simon the all-clear."

"You're not gonna help me with this?"

"I'll be back in a minute."

"I'm doing you a favor here! I want you to do me a favor too."

I sighed. "Fine. What?"

"I want you to show me what's in that cabinet you keep locked up. Gotta be something really cool."

"No way! That's our stuff! You'll just try to steal it!"

"I promise I'll keep my hands to myself."

I considered it. Without Dash, I never would have found Nareef, or the presents. We wouldn't even **have** Christmas if it hadn't been for him. "Okay. But don't touch anything!"

"I won't!"

I hurried up the stairs just in time. Mom was saying, "I don't want you boys touching the stove after the mess you made the other day!"

"Even if it's a surprise?"

"Oh, it was a surprise, all right! No more baking!"

"You can come down now," I said.

Syndi gave me a funny look. "Why are you dressed already?"

"Cause . . . um . . . we went for a walk before the surprise. To look at all the Christmas decorations."

"The Michaelsens leave their lights on all night long," Dad said. "Terrible waste of electricity!"

"Yeah, but it's pretty," I said. "Come on."

When we all made it downstairs, Dash had separated the individual piles and made them look neat. He had even poured eggnog for each of us. "Merry Christmas," he said, beaming.

"Merry Christmas."

"Allow me to play Santa and pass out the gifts. This one's for you . . ." He started with the smaller ones first.

I didn't get a big haul, but I was pleased with the ones I got. My parents gave me a couple of video games, some clothes (parents always give clothes), and some books I had been asking for. Simon got some too, and he got even more when his family came over, Harley waving his bright red Dino Megabot proudly. Even Dash got a new coat from my parents.

We were just about to go have breakfast when Dad said, "What's this? There's still a few presents under the tree."

It was the way he said it: not like "Wow, kids, look at this!" but more like "What the heck are these doing here?"

There was a long, thin one with my name on it. The heavy rectangular one had Simon's name on it. And there was a small square one with a short line and a cross in the "To" space. It took me a minute to figure that one out, but once I did, I handed it to Dash.

The "From" space was blank on all three, but there was a note, on light green paper with holly berries in the corner, attached to each one. I opened mine first.

 _Dear Marshall, reach for the stars, always._

No signature, either.

I tore off the wrapping paper and found . . .

"Stargazer 5000!" I looked at my parents in shock. "These have been sold out in the stores for months! Every time I asked, the guy said they were on back order!"

"Honey," Mom said, "these didn't come from us."

I looked at the note again, and didn't recognize the handwriting.

"You open yours next," I said to Simon.

He started at one end and tore just enough to reveal expensive brown leather. Excited, he ripped the rest of the paper off. "Wow! _Monsters of North America: the Illustrated Edition_! Just what I wanted from . . ." He looked at me. "Santa?"

"What's your note say?"

"Oh." He picked it up off the floor and unfolded it. " _Dear Simon: knowledge is power. And with this, you'll be the most powerful hunter ever. P. S. Nice try with the video camera, but you know I can't be photographed."_

Dash was watching us with a strange look on his face. "Look," he said, "I don't know where these gifts came from, but I don't think they were from Santa. What's mine, then? I asked him for my life back."

He opened the present first. Inside a small white box was . . . a photo frame. It had _My Family_ across the top, but the inside was blank.

"What is this, a joke? It's not funny, whoever you are!"

"Read the note," I suggested.

"I don't wanna read the note! Why did I even think things were gonna be that easy? Oh, sure, I just ask Santa for my whole life in a box, and I get-"

" _Dear Dash,_ " I read, " _the best life is the one we make for ourselves. Build your own future, and you need no past. Good luck to you._ "

"What does that mean, build your own future? Out of what?"

"Well, look around you. You're not alone. You've got us."

"That's right," said my dad. "We'll be your family. Let's take a picture to put in that frame of yours." He went to get the good camera, the one with a timer so we could all be in the picture, and we all grouped together under the Christmas tree.

It was right at the moment that the flash was going off that I realized something.

"Build your own future," I muttered under my breath. "And he was there when we went to see Santa."

Simon looked at me. "You think these are from Nadine?"

"Nareef," I corrected him. "Yeah, I think so. That's why he broke into our house last night-to leave these for us."

"Cool. But why?"

"I don't know," I said, "but I think we'll find out someday."

"Let's get one more picture," said Dad. "Smile, everybody!"

* * *

After breakfast, but before we got all dressed up for Christmas dinner, I decided it was time I kept my promise.

"Come on, Dash," I said. "You want to see what's up there? I think you've earned it."

"Just don't touch anything," said Simon. "Some of it's kinda sensitive."

"I just want to **see** it," he said. "Then I'll be happy."

We climbed the stairs to the attic, and then I brought out the key that I wore around my neck and unlocked the Evidence Locker. It was just an old roll-top desk, but it was full of all the artifacts we'd collected from our adventures.

"Wow." Dash was staring at everything, his eyes wide. "What is all this stuff?"

I picked up a few items at random and held them up. "This," I said, "is a genuine fossil. It's the preserved shell of a sea creature that lived millions of years ago."

"Where'd you find that?"

"Right near the lake."

He gave me a dubious look. "Right. The fossil of an ancient sea creature shows up in landlocked Indiana."

"The oceans were a lot different back in the time of the dinosaurs. Now this one you might recognize."

"That's part of the Brainalyzer, isn't it?"

"We couldn't keep the whole thing, in case someone figured out what it was and tried to put it back together. But one piece is all we needed."

"And that there, in the plastic bag?"

"Don't open it!" Simon cautioned him. "Let's just say that it would be really, really bad if that got out."

Dash withdrew his hand and stepped back. "Boy, you guys have everything here! This is really cool!"

I smiled. "You're welcome. This is your real present, Dash. Better than socks any day, right?"

"Oh, absolutely. What's a pair of socks compared to the secrets of the universe?"

* * *

"The end," I said to the class. Everyone applauded just as the bell rang. "Merry Christmas," I called out to them, "and may all your dreams come true!"

Jack and I rode home together, and he asked me, "So did you save her? The little girl in Iraq?"

"I might have."

"Dad!"

"Okay, okay! There was a school we liberated. It was mostly boys, but there were a few little girls. One of them might have been Nareef's great-great-grandmother. Or maybe it hasn't happened yet. He didn't say she was **in** Iraq when I saved her."

"You'd better save every little girl you can, just in case."

"I will."

We pulled into our driveway. As I helped him out of his safety seat, Jack asked me, "So Santa can't be photographed, can he?"

"Nope."

"Does he know about digital recorders?"

"Jack!"

"Come on, Dad! We'll hide it so good he'll never spot it!"

"That's what we thought," I said.

"He'll never know it's there!"

"Jack! Some things should remain a mystery. End of story. Let's just enjoy Christmas for what it is, and not try to dissect it."

"Okay."

The real treasures of Christmas are the ones we can't put a price tag on. The wonder on a child's face when they come face to face with holiday magic. The time spent with family and friends. The joy of giving someone the perfect gift.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all . . . a little magic in your own lives.


	13. The Yeti

"Who do you know in Andover, Massachusetts?" my wife asked me. She had brought in the mail, as she usually does on her way to work, and on the top of the pile was a letter with a handwritten address, postmarked from Andover.

"Nobody, as far as I know."

"Is it someone else selling solar panels? Should I throw it away?"

"No, let me see it first."

She handed it over, and I opened it and scanned it quickly. "It's from Naseem! Old Army buddy," I explained. "He says . . . he says he's coming here next week. On some kind of cross-country tour. With . . . oh, boy."

"What? What is it?"

"He's bringing Wind-Over-Mountain."

"What is a Wind-Over-Mountain?"

"He's a yeti. Bit of a long story."

"I want to hear this."

"No time right now. You'll be late."

"Then write it out for me. I want to know how you met a yeti, and why he is coming here."

"I'd like to know that myself. Okay, I'll have it ready for you when you come home tonight."

* * *

It's like the old saying goes. You can take the boy out of Eerie, but . . .

It was bad enough having to deal with weird stuff at home. When weird stuff followed me halfway around the world, I knew this was not coincidence. This was my calling. It became my job to figure out what we were facing, and how to beat it.

It started with the zombies. Now, these weren't bloody, vicious, _Walking Dead_ zombies. These were enemy combatants who wouldn't go down when we shot them.

"Why won't they drop?" my buddy Ellis cried out in frustration.

It was then that I saw it. You can always spot a zombie by the eyes. Their eyes are blank and white, with no irises or pupils. Of course, if you're close enough to see the whites of their eyes, you're in trouble.

"Head shot!" I advised the others. "Blow their brains out!"

"What?" Hector Gonzalez asked.

"Only way to keep 'em down!" I was already aiming at the closest zombie. I'm no sharpshooter, but he was close enough that I made the shot.

There were only about a dozen zombies, and eight of us, so we got rid of them pretty quickly. Once the danger was past, our sergeant, Harrison, demanded to know what had just happened.

"Reanimation spells are actually pretty easy," I told him. "I met someone once who brought her dead boyfriend back to life. It didn't end well. But if someone wanted to make a bunch of zombies, all you have to do is recite the spell over the corpses, add the secret ingredient, and then give them simple instructions. Fortunately, as you saw, zombies are also easy to kill. Disrupt the brain, and they die. Again."

"And you know this how?"

"Remind me to tell you about Eerie sometime," I said.

A few weeks later, we were ambushed by a huge flock of what looked and acted like birds with metal wings, dive-bombing us from out of nowhere. A few of us got clipped before we made it inside the command center, and we could hear the "birds" slamming into the walls.

"What the heck were those?" Sergeant Harrison demanded.

"I don't know," I said, "but I know how I can find out."

I logged onto the computer and e-mailed Simon.

 _To: SHolmes221_

 _From: SpookyT_

 _Re: possible creature ID_

 _You know anything about birds with metal wings? They attacked us just now. Any idea how to get rid of them?_

 _Thanks,_

 _M._

It was hours before the reply came in, due mostly to the time difference. In that time, we stayed inside, though all was quiet outside. I thought the birds might have gone off to feed or roost or whatever. But I didn't want to sound the all-clear unless I knew for sure they were gone.

Then there was a ping as the reply arrived in my inbox.

 _To: SpookyT_

 _From: SHolmes221_

 _Re: creature sighting_

 _Sounds like you've got harpies. They're not usually found east of Turkey, but something's disrupted their migration patterns the last few years. They're bulletproof, but a couple of incendiaries chucked into their midst will destroy them and scatter the survivors. They shouldn't bother you again._

 _I'd ask you to save me a sample for study, but they don't do well in captivity._

 _Hope this helps._

 _S._

I turned to Sergeant Harrison with a smile on my face. "We need," I told him, "to make them go boom!"

That wasn't the end of it, by any means. So much weird stuff happened to us that we decided there must be a sorcerer with a grudge working for the other side. Any time something out of the ordinary happened, we said, "Jafar's at it again."

The insurgents had Jafar; the U. S. Army had me. So, no contest there.

And then one night, something big and hairy blundered into our camp.

I was on night watch, along with Ellis and Gonzalez. It was only a quarter moon, so it was safe for me to be seen by others. On full moon nights, I took solo watch.

Hector and I were playing cards with his new JLAnimated pack, when suddenly his head snapped up and he sniffed at the air. "Something out there," he said.

"Some **thing**?" Ellis asked, picking up his weapon.

"Doesn't smell human."

"How can you tell?"

I could hear it now, too, stealthy rustling in the underbrush behind us. "Don't make any sudden moves," I advised.

The rustling stopped.

"Maybe it's gone away," Ellis said.

Hector sniffed again. "Nope. It's still here. Ellis, grab that light."

Ellis picked up the emergency light on the ground at his feet. He switched it on and swung it around in a one-hundred-eighty-degree arc.

"I guess he's gone," he said hastily.

Hector shook his head. "City kids. When that thing leaves, we'll hear it."

"What do you think it is?" I asked.

"Don't know. But it's big. Smells like wet dog."

I could smell it now. "It's coming from that direction," I said, pointing to my right. "Ellis, shine the light that way."

"I'm tellin' ya, there's nothing-"

He swung the light around and we saw it.

It was huge, towering over Ellis, who was six foot five. It was covered in whitish-gray, shaggy fur, and its face was flat, like an ape's. Its claws were at least an inch long.

Ellis dropped the light and reached for his rifle. I picked up the light and asked him, "What are you doing?"

"I'm not gonna shoot it! Just fire a warning shot to try and scare it off."

"I don't think something that size scares easy," said Hector.

"It's a yeti," I said. "But they live way up in the mountains. What's he doing down here?"

"I don't know," Ellis said, "and I don't care." He lifted the rifle and put his finger on the trigger.

And then something happened that surprised even me, the resident weird expert. The yeti raised his hands in the air and said something.

"What's he doing?" Hector asked.

"'Don't shoot,'" I said, translating the words. "It's the one Farsi phrase I know."

"That thing speaks Farsi?"

"Ellis, put the gun down. And go find Naseem."

He seemed dazed as he set the rifle down and went back into base camp. "A yeti. One that speaks Farsi, no less. Now I've seen everything."

He returned a moment later with Private Naseem Ayali, who was born in Iraq, emigrated to the US with his family as a child, and had jumped at the chance to go and defend his homeland on behalf of his adopted country. He usually served as our translator.

"What is it?" he asked.

I pointed.

Naseem's face went pale. "The Hairy Man," he whispered. "My mother told me, when I was very young, that if I didn't behave, the Hairy Man would come and take me away."

"Folk legend," I said. "Yeti rarely leave the high country. They might spy on an encampment, but they don't bother with human settlements. We have to find out why he's here."

The yeti was watching us closely, those clawed hands still in the air.

I approached, Naseem a step behind me. "Hi," I said. "My name's Marshall. This is Naseem, Hector, and Ellis." I didn't know Ellis' first name; like Cher, Madonna, and Mario, he only used one name. "What's your name?"

The yeti blinked. Clearly he wasn't expecting us to try and talk to him. As soon as Naseem had finished the translation, he spoke. His words were rough, almost a growl, but they were clearly language.

"His name is Wind-Over-Mountain," Naseem told me.

"Pleased to meet you, Wind-Over-Mountain," I said. "Are you alone here in the low country?"

Translation. Response. "Yes, I come alone."

"How did you get here? Did you walk down the mountain?"

"I followed the moving light."

At this, the others looked at me. "Moving light?" Ellis asked.

"Could be troop movements."

"I don't think anyone's up in the mountains right now."

"Yeah, cause you're Mr. Military Intelligence, aren't you?" Hector teased him. "Ask him what the light looked like."

I relayed the question.

"It was like fire in the air," Wind told us. "Fire that stayed ahead of me, no matter which way I turned."

"Doesn't sound like truck headlights to me," I said. "Wind, were there two, or just one?"

"Just one," was his answer. "It was like a ball of green flame, floating in the air."

Everyone looked at me again. I shrugged. "I'm not sure, guys. Could be what they used to call foxfire. Could be a natural phenomenon."

"In swamps," Hector pointed out. "Not out in the desert. I think Jafar's at it again."

"Someone magicked up a ball of green fire to lure a yeti into our camp." Ellis' tone was one of mild sarcasm. "They couldn't just throw a bomb?"

"Not when you can throw a living bomb," I said. "Think of what could have happened if you didn't put the gun down. You would have shot him, he would have gone berserk and smashed up the place. Maybe even killed someone. He could have done a lot of damage before we could take him down. Like a furry suicide bomber."

"So what do we do now?" asked Naseem.

There was only one thing to do. "We have to bring him home."

* * *

"Absolutely not!" Sergeant Harrison roared.

I had gone into the command tent alone, not knowing what Wind would do if I brought him along. He wasn't used to people, and facing people with guns would not be good for any of us. So I left the others in charge of him and went to consult the CO alone.

"But sir, he won't last down here very long. Once the sun comes up and it starts getting hot . . . yeti are cold-weather animals. He's not used to the warmer weather, and we can't keep him inside all the time. He's not a pet."

"Why does all the weird stuff[1] follow you around, Spooky?"

"I think Jafar just doesn't want to give up. He wasn't expecting resistance."

"He can stay here tonight and into tomorrow. But at sunset tomorrow, you drive him back up the mountain. He won't fit in a Humvee?"

"No, sir. That's why I asked for the truck."

"You **walk** him up the mountain if you have to. And you make sure he doesn't find his way back. Don't make me regret this, Teller."

"No, sir."

* * *

It's hot in Iraq. Imagine the hottest summer day you've ever known. Now imagine you're stuck in the house with no air conditioning, in front of an oven that's turned on. **That's** how hot it is in Iraq. [2]

Now imagine it with fur. It's like being **inside** the oven, slowly roasting. Wind was all right during the night when it was cooler, but as soon as the sun came up, he started panting like a dog.

"What do we do?" Ellis asked me.

We were keeping him in the supply tent, which was currently empty. We were due for another shipment in a few days, so hopefully he'd be okay until nightfall.

"Keep the fans on," I said. "We should get him some water, too."

Ellis poured some water from his canteen into a paper cup and handed it to Wind, who took it between his thumb and forefinger. The sheer size of his paws made the cup look no bigger than a thimble. He tried to lap the water from the cup, but the size of his tongue compared with the size of the cup made a huge mess.

"He needs something bigger," I said.

Hector jerked his head up. "I'll be right back," he said. He disappeared into the barracks and came back with a metal bowl with SKIPPY written on the side in red Sharpie.

"Won't he mind us using his bowl?" Ellis asked.

Hector and I looked at each other. "He's . . . on temporary assignment," I said. "With the 18th. He won't be back for a few days."

What nobody but the two of us knew was that Hector **was** Skippy, in wolf form. Someone who thought about it might have wondered why the two of them were never seen together, but most of us had more important things to worry about. Like not getting shot at or blown up by a roadside bomb. "Skippy" was really good at sniffing those out, in both forms.

Wind held the bowl in one huge hand and tipped it up into his mouth. It worked much better than the tiny little cup. When it was empty, we refilled it.

Wind was introduced to American music, most of which he liked. (Country music was his favorite, although it's never been mine.) He also had his first taste of Coca-Cola, which he didn't like so much.

I summarized our experience in an e-mail to Simon:

 _To: SHolmes221_

 _From: SpookyT_

 _Re:_ _Yeti info_

 _Some interesting facts about yeti:_

 _1\. They can learn and speak language. Ours speaks Farsi (good thing we have a translator)_

 _2\. Loves Toby Keith._

 _3\. Likes hot dogs and nachos, hates Coke._

 _4\. Does not fit in a Humvee. We have to bring him home in the supply truck._

 _I'll keep you posted. We move out at sunset._

 _M._

* * *

The truck that we were planning to bring Wind home in was our backup supply truck; the good one was off on assignment. It had a habit of slipping out of gear if you didn't keep a constant eye on it, and the brakes sometimes stuck a bit, but it was all we had. While Naseem and I stayed inside with Wind, Ellis and Hector did some last-minute maintenance on the truck, making sure all the lights worked, the tires were fully inflated, and that we wouldn't run out of gas halfway up the mountain.

"Why?" Wind asked me.

"Why what?"

"Why are you helping me?"

It was a strange question. "Because . . . this isn't your war. It's . . . politics." I didn't understand it myself; how was I going to explain it to him?

"What is politics?"

"Countries . . . not getting along." I looked to Naseem for help. "How do I explain this to him?"

"The same way my father explained to me, when I was five years old, why we had to leave our home. Because the person in charge of the country has done some bad things, and we're protecting the people who just want to live their lives." He turned and spoke to Wind in their native language. It went on for a while, and I wished I could understand it, but languages have never been my thing.

"What's it like in America?" Wind asked.

"Cooler than here," I told him. "I live in Indiana, which is in the middle of the country. It's . . . nice. People get along and help each other. It's fall there. The leaves fall off the trees, and it's windy and cold a lot of the time. It's almost Halloween."

"What is Halloween?"

So I explained, in simple language, the tradition of dressing in costumes and going from door to door, seeking treats.

Ellis came back, wiping his hands on a rag. "We're good to go," he said.

Wind said something, and Naseem translated. "He wants to know," he said to Ellis, "about where you live."

"Baton Rouge? Well, okay. It's in Louisiana, near the Gulf Coast. Gulf of Mexico, not Persian Gulf. We're about two hours away from the ocean."

"I would like to see the ocean," Wind said.

"I live near the ocean," said Naseem. "Well, an hour and a half from the ocean. If you came to visit me, we could drive up the coast to Gloucester or Rockport. Maybe even Hampton Beach in New Hampshire. Of course, we'd have to go in the off-season . . ."

"Too hot," I explained. "I used to live on the East Coast, and sometimes it gets really hot in the summer. Winters can be really cold, though."

"I can handle the cold," Wind said.

* * *

It was a long drive to the mountains. At least the truck had a tape player; we spent the time listening to Ellis' jazz tapes. Some of them were pretty good. The one that Wind especially liked was labeled "John Petersen, River Run, 1974."

"What's River Run?" I asked.

"A bar in my hometown. It's not there anymore, but they used to have some great shows. I mean . . . my dad and my uncle would go all the time. They bought this tape outside the show. Well, not **this** one; this is a copy of a copy. Tapes don't last that long."

"I've never heard of this John Petersen," said Hector.

"He died in 1976. Traffic accident. Someone ran a red light, and bang! The end of a promising career."

"How long do humans live?" asked Wind, through Naseem.

We all looked at each other, not sure what to say. Finally I said, "The average is about seventy-five years. Some live longer. Some die young."

"Yeti live much, much longer. Centuries . . . but there are not many of us."

"Sounds like my family," said Ellis. "My grandma's ninety-six. My uncle's seventy-five. My dad's sixty, and Mama's fifty-one. And we're all that's left."

"How sad. Treasure them."

About an hour later, we reached the point where the road ended. We would have to go on foot from here on. Hector took point, since his senses were sharpest. I went next, then Naseem, then Wind, and finally Ellis on rear guard. We had our rifles out, and it's a good thing we did, because the next thing we knew, a bullet flew past my ear. It made a sound like _zzzzzzzzip!_

"Get down!" We all hit the dirt, trying to make ourselves as flat as possible. Not possible when one of us was a three-hundred-pound yeti; Wind's backside stuck up like a white flag. I wished I had some sort of a cover to throw over him. And then I remembered my jacket. I took it off and tried to cover him, but it looked about the size of a washcloth.

"Guys, help me!"

Naseem saw what I had done and took his own jacket off. "We need one more!"

Hector started to wriggle out of his, but Ellis beat him to it. "Got it," he said, and laid the dark fabric over the last bit of white fur.

"Anybody hit?" I asked.

We checked ourselves as best we could in the darkness, but no one seemed to have been shot. "What do we do now?" Hector asked me.

"How the heck should I know?"

"I thought you were in charge! You always know what to do!"

"If it's something supernatural, I know! This is just a regular group of insurgents. We stay down till they either pass by or attack."

"When will we know?" Naseem asked.

"Pretty soon, I would guess."

There was a whisper of sliding fabric as Wind got up. He said something, and Naseem translated, "Stay down. I will take care of them."

"What? No!" I started to get up, and Wind pushed me back down with the leathery palm of his huge hand. Dirt went up my nostrils, and I struggled not to cough and give us away.

I needn't have bothered.

I heard the rapid-fire thunder of a machine gun, and then a roaring sound that filled the whole world. Then screams that were cut off suddenly. I lay there in the dirt, afraid to move, and it was only when things went eerily quiet that I dared raise my head. It was then that I found out that Ellis was gone.

"Where is he?" I motioned for the others to get up and together we began searching the area. I saw spent shell casings all around us, but not a single bullet had touched us. That had to be nothing short of a miracle.

Then something crashed through the bushes, and I raised my rifle. It was only Wind, dark stains blotching his white fur.

"Oh, my God, are you hit? Are you shot?"

He looked down at himself, and then he said, "No. Their blood. No more."

"No more what?"

"No more shooters. We can go."

"Not yet. We still have to find Ellis."

"I'm right here." One second he wasn't there, and then suddenly he was. There were a couple of bullet holes in his clothes, but no blood anywhere.

"Were you hit?" I asked. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Don't think so. Let's go. I don't think we're gonna have any more trouble."

We set off again, and it was true: we had no more trouble from any other insurgents. Word must have gotten around that the Hairy Man was on a rampage. We made it to the top of a ridge when Wind told us, "This is as far as you can go. I can find my way from here."

"Will you be okay?" I asked.

"Yes. My people wait for me. Thank you for your help, my friends. Farewell, Marshall, who came to me in friendship instead of fear. Farewell, Naseem, my countryman. Farewell, Hector the changing. Farewell, Brother Night. I hope to see you all again someday." He smiled, a strange expression on that strange face, and then he turned and disappeared into the brush.

None of us followed him.

As we started back down the mountain, Hector asked Ellis, "Why did he call you Brother Knight? Should we call you Sir Ellis?"

But Naseem was already shaking his head. "Not 'knight' like Knights of the Round Table. _La noche._ " It seemed that Farsi wasn't the only language he knew.

And in that moment, it all clicked. All the little eccentricities that I had observed about Ellis up till that point. They were so mild that I had dismissed them as just him being Southern, or introverted, or just weird. The way he always volunteered for night watch, and was rarely seen during the day. The way he ate his meat as rare as he could get it. The way he had disappeared when the fight began, and showed up after it was over, with bullet holes in his clothes but not a scratch on him.

How had I not seen it before?

"You're a vampire," I said.

Ellis sighed. "I knew you'd figure it out sooner or later. Spooky Teller, the weirdness expert. Yes, I'm a vampire, but it's not like you see it in the movies or on TV. I can go out in the sunlight, but not for long periods; it drains my energy."

"All those afternoon naps," said Hector, who was probably wondering why he hadn't seen it before either.

"Some things are true. I'm at my best after dark, especially after midnight. I'm faster and stronger than ordinary humans, but not by a whole lot. There's been a lot of interbreeding over the centuries."

"What's not true?" I asked. I felt like I should be taking notes.

"I'm not dead. It's just . . . a different state of being. Crosses and holy water don't bother me. I think that's old race memory from the Crusades and the witch-hunts. And garlic-I love garlic! Cajun cooking is full of it."

"But you do drink blood?"

"It's not like it used to be. We have donors now. For some reason, the blood has to be taken from a living being. Dead blood is no good. We've figured out a way to dry and concentrate it into capsules-"

"Those care packages you get once a month," I guessed. "Your supply?"

"Yeah. One of those in a glass of water once a day does for me. I try to drink it when no one else is around, so I don't gross 'em out."

"And you're bulletproof."

He looked at me strangely. "How'd you know that?"

"When I got up after the firefight, I saw a circle of spent shell casings all around us. But not one bullet touched us. You deflected them, didn't you?"

He looked down at the holes in his uniform. "Most of 'em. One or two got me, but that's all healed up now."

"How old **are** you?" asked Hector.

"Old enough to hang out in a bar in 1974."

"So . . ." He tried to do the math in his head. "Fifty?"

Ellis laughed. "Older than that. I won't blow your mind by tellin' you, but I once met Teddy Roosevelt on his campaign tour."

"Wow." Even Naseem was in awe.

"So who else knows about . . . what you are?" I asked.

"Nobody but Sergeant Harrison. I've done my best to try to act normal around everyone else."

"You've done a great job," I said. "You even had me fooled."

* * *

"That is some story," Sylvie said when she'd finished. "When does he say he is coming?"

"Tomorrow. He says he'll call in the morning and find out when's a good time for us to meet."

"And he is bringing a yeti here?"

"Why not? In this town, a yeti won't even stand out."

She couldn't argue with that.

We ended up meeting at the Starbucks inside the World of Stuff the next day at about ten in the morning. I saw the RV parked outside and knew it had to be theirs. No way would a yeti fit in anything smaller.

I went inside and there they were. Well, I mean, it's a little hard not to spot a seven-foot-tall yeti in a down jacket and cap with earflaps, but no one else seemed to notice them. They were sitting at a table being left completely alone.

I went up and ordered my usual mocha, and when it was ready, I joined them at the table. "Hey, guys."

Naseem looked pretty much the same as he had fourteen years before. Maybe a little grey in his hair, maybe a few lines that hadn't been there the last time I had seen him, but otherwise he was unchanged. "I see you got my letter."

"Just got it yesterday. Just in the nick of time, as they say. Hello, Wind Over Mountain." I waited for Naseem to translate, but it seemed it wasn't necessary anymore.

"Hello, Marshall," Wind said, in heavily accented but perfectly understandable English.

"Wow," I said. "You've been teaching him English."

"I thought it would help," said Naseem. "We have been all over the place since we got off the plane in Boston: first I brought him to my family's home in Andover, then we took a ride up the North Shore to Gloucester, and the next day we started our road trip. We've already been to see Sergeant Harrison in Detroit; after we leave here, our next stop is Baton Rouge, and then we'll stop at the Grand Canyon on our way to Hector's family compound in California."

"Sounds like you've got this all planned. I wish I could come with you."

"We should meet somewhere," Wind said. "Washington. Dee-See. We saw the White House, but your President wasn't there."

"Yeah, he's been busy," I said. "I don't know . . . would it be too hot to go there in July?"

"If we met by night," Naseem suggested, "I suppose it could work. I should get my money's worth out of this thing."

"I thought it was a rental."

"No, I bought it outright. I told Wind he can come visit us any time he wants."

"Does he have travel papers?" I asked. There was a lot of talk recently about banning immigrants from the Middle East.

"Officially, he's my cousin from Fallujah. The papers stood up at customs in Iraq and at Logan, so he should be okay."

"And maybe you can come visit me," Wind said.

"Maybe we will," I said. "Okay, spread the word to the other guys: July 4th, about 9PM. Where's a good spot to meet?"

"Ellis suggested the Vietnam War Memorial. He said he would show us his name on the wall."

I stared at him in shock. "I thought he said he wasn't dead!"

"He faked his own death, officially, to get out of Vietnam. Did you think Iraq was his first war? He's been lucky enough to get to serve his country many times. I'll let him tell you about it when we see him."

* * *

And so it was that on the evening of July 4th, 2017, I took a detour from the usual family vacation and drove to Washington to reunite with my old war buddies. We laughed, we caught up on each other's lives, and we finally learned Ellis' first name when he showed us the inscription on the black stone: MERRIWETHER ALLAN JOSHUA ELLIS. He warned us never to utter the name in public on pain of death.

"I haven't killed a human for food in fifty years," he said. "I haven't killed one in anger since I hauled the driver who hit John Petersen out of his car and snapped his neck. Don't make me break that streak."

Someone took a group photo, which made the rounds on Facebook. It's framed and up on my wall now. There I am, right between the werewolf and the vampire, in front of the yeti, and next to the only two normal humans in our squad.

People ask me what I did in the war. Pretty much the same thing I do at home, I tell them. Dealt with the weirdness the only way I know how: sometimes with guns and bombs, but mostly with my greatest weapon.

Friendship.

* * *

[1] Not exactly what he said; I sanitized the language for family consumption.

[2] Except in the mountains.


	14. The Return of Grungy Bill

I hadn't been to the old Hitchcock Mill in over twenty years. In all that time, the place hadn't gotten any less condemned. But it was about to.

"This is where it all started," Simon said. He was carrying the camera in one hand while pointing with the other. "Us, I mean. This is where we met."

"I remember." Dash stood and looked up at the place. "It wasn't bad, for an old abandoned ruin. Most of the floors were intact, there was lots of cool stuff around-which is still there, by the way; most of it was too big for me to steal-and the place was well-ventilated."

"Yeah," I asked, "how are you gonna fix all the bullet holes?"

"Siding, probably. I'll have to consult with my guys. It's not correct for the period, so the Historical Society may not approve it, but it's the easiest solution to the problem."

"I can't believe they're restoring this old place," said Simon.

Dash shrugged. "Makes sense if you think about it. It's been pretty much unchanged for the past hundred and fifty years. There's even some of the old equipment still inside. We've got a specialist from Chicago coming in to work on that, get it restored as part of the exhibit."

"What about upstairs?" I asked.

"There shouldn't be anything upstairs. I cleared out my stuff a long time ago."

"I mean the hole in the floor. Where . . . you know . . ."

"Where I found Grungy Bill's gun?" He grinned. "I still have the pieces, you know. Don't know why."

"It was our first case," I said. "I still have the haunted toaster. Gonna have to move that out of my parents' place soon, though. They're looking into buying a condo at Golden Acres."

"What's Golden Acres?"

"It's a senior living community. Fifty-five and older. Sounds like a really nice place-they have a tennis court, a swimming pool, a weight center, and even a function room for parties. Best of all, all the maintenance is taken care of. They don't even have to pay for utilities."

"That's **if** they get the place," Simon pointed out.

"I hope they do. It's close to the kids' school, too, so they can pick them up in an emergency."

"Let's get some shots from out here," Dash suggested. "Sort of a before and after thing. Then I'll compare them to the pictures the Historical Society has of the mill when it was new, and I'll go from there."

Simon took some pictures from the front, then moved around to the side. "Should I get some of the water wheel here?"

"Yeah, that's great. I'm not doing that, but for reference, yeah. Then we'll move inside."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Just take notes. Hey, maybe you can publish an updated version of _The Ghost of the Old Mill_ with the real-life story of the mill's restoration."

"That sounds like a great idea. I'll talk to my editor about it."

"And I get seventy-five percent of the proceeds."

"Nice try, buddy. No. You get a dedication and that's it."

"You're kidding me." He put on his offended face. "All this hard work and I don't even get paid?"

"The Historical Society's paying you."

"Not nearly enough. Besides, I can always use a little extra to feather my nest. Maybe for a future down payment on a house, when I ask a certain someone a certain question."

"Wow. You're really going to ask Dana to marry you?"

"Yeah, once I'm done with this job. Okay, let's move it inside. We ain't got all day, you know."

* * *

Two weeks later, we met up at my parents' house to clear out the Evidence Locker. They were bound for Golden Acres right after Town Days, which left us not much time to get everything packed up.

"I could just pop this whole thing out," said Dash, eyeing the construction, "and ship it over to your place."

"We don't have anywhere to put it," I told him. "I'll take some stuff. The important stuff. The rest we can just throw out. It doesn't mean anything to anyone but us, so we couldn't sell it at a yard sale or give it away."

"Right. Where do we start?"

Simon closed his eyes and reached in until his hand found something. He pulled it out and examined the tag. "Item 1175 . . . a very old, crumbling, disgusting Harvest King wreath."

"Trash," I said, opening the bag.

"You'd think they'd have made this thing out of plastic at least."

"They didn't expect it to last any longer than the Harvest King," I conjectured. I touched one of the leaves and it crumbled into dust under my fingers. "Ugh."

"Lemme help." Dash took the whisk broom and brushed the dust and fragments into the bag.

"It's funny," Simon said. "All this stuff, it all used to mean something to us. But I look at it now . . . and it's like, why did we save this stuff? It's junk." He held up a fragment of a fake space capsule. "Is this what growing up means? Leaving stuff like this behind?"

"I guess," I said. "I might keep a few things for props at book signings. But most of it's bound for the recycling center. Or the landfill."

"What's that?" Dash asked, pointing to a twisted lump of wire and plastic.

Simon and I looked at each other. "That's Steve's retainer," I said. "He heard dogs talking on it."

"O . . . kay."

"We think," said Simon, "that the metal was able to pick up the dogs' particular frequency. It was fun at first, but then it got nasty pretty quickly."

"Does it still work?"

Again, we looked at each other. "Probably not," I said. "I think we should just toss it."

Into the bag it went.

Mom had said not to save more than ten percent of the stuff. "Otherwise," she said, "it's just moving the junk from one place to another. If you really need it and can use it, take it. If not, out it goes."

Ten percent, I thought, was too generous. Out of three years' worth of artifacts, I had saved maybe five things. The rest either were too degraded to save, or just plain didn't mean anything to me anymore.

Simon declined taking anything. "I don't have room for this stuff."

"No, but you have room for fifty million Sherlock bobbleheads," Dash teased him. He spotted something and scooped it up. "Can I have this?"

It was the Loyal Order of Corn hat that had belonged to my dad, way back when. "Sure," I said.

"I know it sounds weird, but . . . I kinda miss Ned. I wish he was here to explain things to me. Sometimes I have fantasies about the two of us traveling the universe like Doctor Who and his companion."

"Which Doctor?" Simon asked.

"I don't know! Uh . . . Ten."

"Good choice."

"I've always liked Nine better," I said. "Oh, hey, here's Grungy Bill's toaster. You want that?"

"And do what with it?" Dash didn't seem very enthused about taking the haunted toaster off my hands.

"I figured since you're working on the mill and all . . ."

"Yeah, about that. The Historical Society is telling me now that they want the place done by Town Days."

I stared at him in shock. "But that's two weeks! How are you supposed to finish all that work in two weeks?"

"That's what I told them! I've already got my guys working fourteen hours a day, six days a week! But no, they want the restoration done so they can get the interactive exhibits up and ready for Town Days. They said it fits the whole general theme."

Eerie's Town Days were an annual celebration of the town's founding back in 1862. People dressed up in old-fashioned costumes and even fixed up buildings in the old style, like the bank Grungy Bill and I had tried to rob.

"Good thing we're almost done then," I said. "After this one last thing, you can go and enjoy the rest of your one day off, and I'll finish this on my-look out!"

The toaster was hanging half on and half off the shelf, and when I turned away and moved my hand, it overbalanced and fell to the floor. Something crunched. There were little pings and pops as random bits of metal flew off into the corners of the room.

"Crap," I said. "Well, so much for that idea."

"Marshall, look!" Simon pointed to the slots, which were beginning to smoke.

"Should I get a fire extinguisher?" Dash asked me.

I took a closer look. "No, wait. That's not smoke. It's mist. It's . . . ghost mist."

"Déjà vu," said Simon. "Spooky."

The mist rose up and coalesced into the form of a middle-aged outlaw. When I'd first seen him, back when we were kids, Grungy Bill had looked so old-at least fifty, which is practically ancient when you're thirteen. But a quarter-century later, I realized Bill probably wasn't so old after all. Maybe only a decade older than I was now.

"Well, what in tarnation?" He looked around, and then at us. "Who're you fellas?"

"Bill," I said, "it's us. We're just . . . older. You've been in there for a while."

"How long?"

We looked at each other. Someone had to tell him. Apparently that someone was me. "Almost twenty-five years."

If a ghost could faint, Grungy Bill would have been laying out cold on the floor.

* * *

"I'll be hornswaggled," Bill said. "Twenty- **first** century?"

"That's right," I told him.

"Are we on the Moon? Man tole me once that we'd have cities on the Moon by the year 2000. That where we are?"

"No, we're still in Eerie. We've been to the Moon, but not for a real long time."

"But they're talking about going back," Simon interjected. "Or to Mars. Maybe in the next ten years or so."

"Just don't 'spect me t' come along." Bill reached down and picked up a little metal piece that had fallen off the toaster, and as he touched it, he became solid. "That's better. Well, what're y' waitin' fer? Let's get out there and see what's become o' the town!"

"We're not robbing another bank," I said, in the voice I used when my kids asked if they could help make dinner. Don't get me wrong, I love it when they actually want to help out, but in this case, "make dinner" is code for "make a huge mess." So, no.

"Why not? Just get me m' gun, and let's go!"

"And no guns!" Now I was using my "No, Holly, you can't have another Princess Elsa" voice, which was just one step below "Because I said so!"

Dash coughed. "Actually," he said, "I sent the gun off to a guy in Indianapolis. A collector. He's reconstructing it for the-for you know what. He said he might not be able to get it to work. I told him it didn't need to. Anyway, it won't be ready till next week."

"I can't go out there without a gun!" Bill protested.

"Why not? You're already dead. What more can they do to you?"

Suddenly I heard footsteps. "Oh, crap, that's my mom! Bill, hide!"

"Why?" he asked.

"Cause . . ." I racked my brain for a suitable excuse. "Cause she'll turn you in to the sheriff! You're a fugitive, remember?"

"Oh, yeah!" Bill ducked behind an old recliner just as Mom came to the bottom of the stairs.

"You boys need any help? I heard a big bang. Did you drop something?"

"Yeah," I said, "but we've got it. We're picking it up."

"What was it? Did it break?"

"Yeah, it kind of did."

"It was the old toaster," Dash piped up. "Our toaster stopped working, so I was gonna take it. But I dropped it. But it's okay, cause I can have one of my electrical guys take a look at it."

"We might even be able to use parts from our old toaster," Simon added.

"All right, then. Make sure you get the light when you leave."

"Sure thing." I flashed her a thumbs-up as she left. Then I breathed a sigh of relief that we'd gotten away with it. "You can come out now, Bill."

He stepped out into the open, shaking his head. "I don't know . . . what do we do now?"

"Did you mean it," I asked Dash, "about fixing the toaster?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not? Take a couple days, but then we just pop him back in there, and no problem."

"What if he doesn't want to go back in?"

"I'm right here, y'know," Bill reminded us. "I don't know if I want t' go on bein' a ghost. I been dead a long, long time . . ."

"You'll have time to decide," Dash said, tucking the remains of the toaster under his arm, "while we get this thing fixed. C'mon, you're going to our place for the duration."

"How long we talkin' 'bout?"

"Maybe a week. Maybe two. Hey, you'll be around for Town Days. It'll feel just like home to you."

"What's Town Days?"

Dash smiled that smile that always makes me nervous. When he smiles like that, he's up to something. "Oh, Bill. You and I are gonna have such fun!"

* * *

That was actually the last time I talked to Dash in person for two weeks. Simon told me he would leave at about five o'clock in the morning, before the sun was even up, and not come home until eleven o'clock or sometimes even after midnight. He had to get this thing done, and though I offered to come over and help him, he refused, saying that I could see it when it was finished.

Meanwhile, the toaster still sat, unfixed, in Dash and Simon's apartment. Bill was just hanging around by himself all day long while Simon was at work, but after the incident with the stove, it was decided that it was too risky for even a ghost to be home alone, and Simon started dropping him off at my place when he went to work. Bill sat on the couch all day watching the Game Show Network.

"Benjamin Franklin, ya durn fool!" he shouted at the contestant who'd given the wrong answer. "Are all folks in the future this dumb?"

"You should watch _Jeopardy_ sometime. All the smart people are on that show."

"Mebbe I should." He started to put his feet up on the couch, and I shoved them down.

"At least take your boots off first."

"What for?"

"Cause we're down to one bottle of upholstery cleaner, and my kids are messy eaters."

"Fine." He slowly untied his boots, slipped them off, and set them neatly under the coffee table.

"Bill," I said. "Do you **want** to go back into the toaster?"

"Huh?"

"You've been a ghost for a long time. Do you want to go on with that, or . . . are you ready to give up and go on to whatever awaits you out there?"

"Out where?" He looked up at the ceiling.

"I mean . . . the afterlife. Whatever you believe in."

"My daddy was a preacher. Real fire-and-brimstone kinda man. He always told me that I was bound fer Perdition, t' burn in a lake of fire forever."

"Well, we don't really know what the afterlife is like. Maybe there **is** no Heaven or Hell."

"Ah hope not. I done a lot o' bad things."

"Not really."

He looked at me in surprise.

"You never actually shot anyone with your gun, did you?"

"Well, no, but-"

"And you never **actually** robbed the Bank of Eerie."

"I did too!" he insisted. "I stole that there toaster!"

"Actually, you didn't. The toaster was free."

I realized it was a mistake as soon as the words jumped out of my mouth, but it took Bill a few more seconds to catch on. "I ain't leavin' this Earth till I rob that bank! Now get me m' gun and let's go!"

"I don't have your gun. Dash sent it to that guy in Indianapolis. I don't know if it's back yet."

"Then get me **a** gun. Jus' somethin' I can threaten folks with."

"I don't have a gun! Are you kidding? I have little kids!"

"All the more reason to protect 'em! Back in my day, a man needed a gun to keep his family safe!"

"Times have changed," I told him. "I don't have a gun, and I don't know anyone who does."

Bill didn't let this stop him for long. "Don't matter," he said. "I'll rob that bank if I have to beat them with m' bare hands!" And he took off running out the front door.

"Bill, wait! Come back here!" Boy, I'd really done it this time. I picked up the phone and called Simon.

"Marshall, what's up? I'm in class."

"We've got a problem. I might have sort of accidentally told Grungy Bill that he didn't actually rob the Bank of Eerie."

"You **what**?'

"I didn't mean to! It just slipped out! Now he's headed for the bank armed with nothing but his determination and his bare hands, and we've got to stop him!"

"Okay, okay!" I could hear the wheels turning as Simon tried to think of something. "Meet me at the mill and we'll talk to Dash. He's better at plans than I am."

"You're the smartest guy I know!"

"Yeah, but he covers all the angles. He thinks of things I don't even consider. I'll call and tell him we're coming."

"Okay." I hung up and got my jacket on. I hoped that Dash was able to come up with a plan before Bill got to the bank.

* * *

The siding looked great. You couldn't tell this place had ever been riddled with bullet holes. The steps no longer creaked, and all the KEEP OUT and NO TRESPASSING signs had been taken down.

"Nice, huh?" Dash said. He was sitting on the porch rail, balancing a Thermos on his knee.

"You've done a great job," I told him.

"Yeah, well, wait till you see the inside."

"Later. Right now we've got a problem."

Simon showed up just then. He must have run all the way from the school; he still didn't have a car. "What's . . . the . . . plan?" he huffed.

"Oh, you're gonna love this," said Dash. "And I'll tell you on the way to the bank. We don't have any time to lose."

Simon groaned. "I just came from downtown! You'd better drive us!"

"Whatever. You see, our mutual friend could not have picked a better time to reappear. You've noticed what's going on all over town?"

"Sure," I said. "Some of the businesses are even getting a makeover for Town Days . . . oh, I see what you're saying."

"So here's what we do . . ."

By the time we got to the bank, Bill was already near the front of the line.

"Why is he waiting?" Dash whispered to me. "Why doesn't he just do what he came here for?"

Simon shrugged. "He's polite, I guess."

"A polite bank robber?"

"So which one of us," I asked, "does the heavy lifting?"

Both of them looked at me.

"Oh, no! I had to wear a dress last time we did this! You do the hard job!"

"This is your thing," Dash said. "We'll be doing our thing. This is what you do best."

"But I tried to talk him out of it! What if it doesn't work?"

"Then we'll be working on Plan B." The two of them shuffled away and approached the counter. I went to do my part.

"Not my 'thing,'" I muttered. "I don't have a 'thing.' What's their problem?"

I caught up with Bill just as he was about to be called next. "Bill! Look, don't do this, man! You don't have to! You don't have anything to prove to anyone!"

"I can't rest in peace till I rob this here bank," he said in reply. "You can either help me, or step aside, pardner."

"But you don't even have your gun!" I said as loudly as I could.

That got people's attention, all right. At the mention of the word "gun," most of them ran out the door. This was part of the plan; fewer bystanders if something went wrong. Which it did, in very short order.

"I don't have m' gun," he said, "so I'll borrow this fella's!" And he snatched the security guard's gun right out of its holster before I could stop him.

"Bill, no!"

"I came here t' rob the bank, an' that's what I'm gonna do!" He pushed his way to the front of the line and waved the gun in the clerk's face. "Gimme all the money, right now!"

"Yes, sir." The clerk grabbed a canvas bag and started shoving cash into it. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Then Dash sidled up to me and winked.

"Plan B," he said. "Okay, Simon, you got that?"

Across the room, Simon held up his phone and nodded.

Dash turned and addressed the remaining bank customers. "It's okay, folks. This is a little Town Days production we're preparing for you. Nothing to worry about."

"You're filming this?" I whispered.

"Why not?" he replied. "One more exhibit for the mill. Wait till you see it!"

"You could have told me!"

"And cheat the audience of a genuine reaction?"

"I'll give you a genuine reaction!" I moved toward him threateningly, but he just backpedaled, that smug smile never leaving his face. I wanted to punch him so badly. He did this all the time! It was getting a little old, to tell you the truth.

The bank clerk finished filling up the bag with money and tried to stuff it through the slot, but it wouldn't fit. "I'm gonna have to come around," he said. "I can't fit it through the window."

"No funny business now, y'hear?" Bill kept holding the gun on him while he got up from his stool and came around the counter. He handed the bag off, and Bill didn't even look inside before he tossed the gun to the security guard and ran out the door.

"Aaaaand . . . that's a wrap! Thanks for your assistance, folks. The finished product will be unveiled at the opening of the newly renovated Hitchcock Mill Museum, on Friday! Let's go, Simon!" Dash took a bow, and I stopped wanting to punch him and found myself admiring his nerve. Just like always. The only reason he got away with this whole routine was that he was so good at it. He could have stolen the world.

We caught up with Bill at the far end of Main Street, where it became Water Street and led back to the mill. "Well," I said, "you did it. You robbed the bank. Congratulations. Bucket list achieved."

He screwed up his face in confusion. "Bucket who?"

"It's an expression. Sometimes people make a list of things they want to do before they kick the bucket. You may be the first person in history to complete the bucket list **after** the bucket was kicked."

Now he smiled, his face crinkling in the other direction. "Yeah, I'm gonna be famous!"

"You have no idea," Dash said. "Bill, before you mosey on up to the Last Roundup, I've got something to show you. Not now, though; it's not quite ready yet. Tomorrow night. I'll give you the free preview before we open to the public. You're gonna love this."

"I will? What is it?"

"Ah, ah, ah! That's for tomorrow night. Come hide out with us for one more day. Then you'll see everything."

As they walked away, Dash held the bag open enough to show me what was inside. It was Monopoly money. I just hoped neither of them told Bill.

* * *

Thursday night, we met at the mill at seven o'clock. Bill had spiffed himself up a bit; he'd found himself a new suit in a pile of costumes for Town Day. "Fer the occasion," he told me when I remarked on his appearance.

"And what an occasion it is," said Dash. "The grand opening of this place is tomorrow, but you get to see it first. Sorry that none of the interactive exhibits are up yet, but if I powered them up now, I'd get in trouble. None of this is what I want to show you, anyway. Come on."

I hadn't been inside the mill in twenty-five years, and boy, had it changed. For the better, of course. Everything was cleaned up and fixed up. There were little plaques everywhere describing the equipment and what those old-time people did with it.

"What I want to show you's upstairs," Dash said. "Come on, Bill, you don't wanna miss this."

We went up the stairs, which didn't creak at all. "Reinforced floors," Dash confirmed. "Except for that one spot. Wait till I show you."

And there we were, in the place where we'd first met Dash, all those years ago. But wow, how different it was.

"This," Dash said, turning on the lights, "is 'Grungy Bill: The Man Who Wouldn't Give Up.' And over here . . ."

The hole Dash had made in the floor stamping on my video tape was now a trap door with a handle. When I lifted it . . .  
"That's not the real gun," he said. "This is a plastic replica. Don't want the kids handling real guns, now do we?"

"Where's the real one?" Bill demanded.

"Over here." He led us across the room to where the real gun, Betsy herself, was enclosed in a glass case affixed to the wall. "Part of the exhibit now."

"She looks brand new!" Bill reached out to touch the glass, but Dash stopped him.

"It's alarmed, for obvious reasons. If you so much as breathe on that glass, this place will be crawling with cops in five minutes."

"Won't that be a problem when this place opens to the public?" I asked.

"They're putting a velvet rope around it. Should be up first thing tomorrow morning. Here, have a souvenir program." Dash handed each of us a booklet with a picture of the mill and the title THE LEGEND OF GRUNGY BILL. I opened it and started reading.

"When it comes to bank robbing, some were successful, like Bonnie and Clyde. Some, however, were unsuccessful. But no one in the history of bank robbing failed so often and so spectacularly as William Robert Carver, better known as Grungy Bill, the only man to attempt to rob the Bank of Eerie thirteen times-and fail every single time.

"But he never let that stop him. Like the coyote in the cartoons, who fell off a cliff and was up and chasing the road runner again in the next scene, Grungy Bill never let failure stop him from trying again. He was determined to rob that bank, and though he ultimately did not succeed, we remember his tenacity, his courage, and his determination to do what he set out to do, no matter what." I started to close the pamphlet, but then something in the first paragraph caught my attention. "Your last name's Carver?" I asked Bill.

"That's right. Why?"

"Was your father's name Jeremiah?"

"Now how'd you know that?"

"You mentioned he was a preacher. Jeremiah Carver was the pastor of the First Church of Normal, Illinois, in the early eighteen-hundreds."

"This adds a new wrinkle to the story," said Dash, and he snatched the booklets back. "I'll have to rewrite these."

"No, leave it," I said. "You can always print up a second edition with the new information added."

"Yeah, and that'll make the first edition more valuable," Simon added.

Bill was looking around in amazement. "You . . . you did all this . . . fer me?"

"Yeah, sure," said Dash. "You're a hero! You're the Man That Never Gave Up. People will know your name for another hundred and fifty years. Maybe even longer. You ready to move on now?"

"I guess. I just . . . I don't know what's waitin' fer me, in the Great Beyond."

"Don't be afraid," I said. "Whatever happens, you'll face it with courage, and tenacity, and determination. No matter what."

"Yer right! I kin do this! Well? What do I have to do?"

"We'll need this." Dash brought out the remains of the toaster. "And that piece you have. I'll need that."

"Oh, sure." He pulled the little piece of metal out of his pocket and handed it over. The second it left his hand, Bill went ghostly again.

"You do the honors," Dash said to me. "You're good at this."

"All right." I looked down at the toaster, and a thought struck me. "What am I going to smash it with?"

"Way ahead of you." Dash brought out a big sledgehammer and handed it over. "This should do the job. Just be careful of the floors. I've fixed enough holes in this place for one lifetime."

"Right." The words first. I'd done this many times before, but this felt . . . different. This was **special**. It was like a circle closing; after twenty-five years, here we all were again. It was time to send Grungy Bill off for good.

"William Robert Carver," I intoned, "I hereby release you from this plane-"

"Ain't a plane, it's a toaster," he said.

"Don't interrupt," said Simon.

"From this plane of existence into whatever afterlife you have earned for yourself. May your memory live on whenever someone stands against impossible odds and in the face of countless failures. Let them see that there is nothing that can't be done. Farewell, and may you find happiness wherever it lies." I took a deep breath and swung the sledgehammer up, and brought it down.

There was a crunching sound, and a screech of twisted metal, but Bill was still here.

"Hit it harder!" Simon advised.

"I can barely lift this thing!" This wasn't going well. But I reminded myself that it had to be done, and it would be done. I lifted it up again and swung it a bit harder this time.

This did the trick. Plastic and metal flew apart in a near-explosion of destruction. That toaster was good and smashed, all right.

And suddenly there was a white light, which came down like a spotlight and surrounded Bill with a glow and the sound of trumpets and a choir.

"I'll be darned! I made it inta Heaven after all! Daddy, I made it!" He held his arms up and was drawn into the light. It was amazing to watch. When he was gone, the light faded, along with the music, and we were left there alone with the pieces of the broken toaster.

There was a fluttering sound, and I looked up to see Bill's Town Days suit floating down to the ground. Guess he didn't need it anymore.

"I'll get a broom," I offered. "We should clean this up."

"Too bad we didn't film **that** ," said Dash. "Woulda made a great ending to our movie."

"Guess we're gonna have to buy a new toaster after all," Simon said.

* * *

A few days later, we were at my parents' house, waiting for the buyer to show up and take the keys.

"I never thought I'd like this house," I said. "I just wanted to go back to New Jersey. Now I feel . . . like I'm losing part of my childhood."

"The new owners are a young couple," my mom told me. "I'm sure they'll make a lot of happy memories here."

"And Golden Acres isn't that far away," Dad pointed out. "You can come visit us anytime you want. We even have a guest room for when the kids stay over."

"I know. I'm glad you got that place." I looked down at my watch. "Where's Dash? He said he'd meet us here."

"Here he comes now!" Simon pointed. Sure enough, there was Dash's truck coming up the street. He parked in front of the house so we all could get out when we needed to.

"Hey, guys." He was smiling that up-to-something smile.

A moment later, I saw another car, small and brown, pulling up behind the truck. I was only mildly surprised to see Dana getting out. She walked up and stood on the porch next to Dash, who put his arm around her.

"Well, here you go." Dad took the house keys out of his pocket and handed them over to Dash. "Good luck."

"Wait a minute!" I looked from one to the other and back again. " **You** bought the house?"

"Yeah, I did. Got a good deal on it, too."

"Why?"

Dash looked up at his new house and said, "I can't remember the house I grew up in. I don't know where it is or what it looks like. Ever since I can remember . . . this place has always been home to me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked my parents.

"And ruin the surprise?" Mom was smiling. "Besides, Dash has done so much work on this house that it's practically his anyway. We were happy to keep it in the family."

"But a home is nothing without someone to share it with." Dash looked at Dana, and then he dropped to one knee. "I want this to be our home, where we'll raise a family of our own. I know you'll love this place as much as I do, Dana. Will you . . . will you marry me?"

Without a single moment's hesitation, Dana said, "Yes! Yes, I will. Of course I will."

And that's how the kid with no name and no past found a home and a family, and a happily ever after.

As for Simon, he found a new roommate almost right away. Of course, the guy wasn't at all what he seemed . . . nothing in Eerie ever is.

But that's another story.


End file.
